


give me hope in the darkness

by Eclaire-de-Lune (RoyalHeather)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Blindness, Carolina is the Meta, Everyone Needs Therapy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, RvB Angst War, Self-Esteem Issues, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, mental trauma, self-indulgent garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/Eclaire-de-Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate timeline where York loses both eyes during the sparring session gone wrong and is discharged from Project Freelancer. When PFL falls, North goes to find him and discovers he's not coping well at all. Also, Carolina is the Meta.</p><p>And there's a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He wakes up and it’s dark. It’s dark, and everything hurts.

Oh God, they’ve got me captured, he thinks muzzily. Anthony Elahi, staff sergeant, service number 9082295, DOB July 10th 2516 -

No, wait, he thinks. Wrong war. 

Groaning, York opens his eyes. It doesn’t make a difference. Everything is pitch-black. He’d wave a hand in front of his face to test, but his entire body feels like it got run over by a garbage truck. He’s lying down, on a relatively comfortable service, and he’s not in his armor. He’s also… not tied down?

“Hey, York,” says North quietly, somewhere above him and to his left, and York sucks in a soft startled breath. “Easy, it’s just me -”

“North,” says York. “They got you too?”

“I - what? No, I’m perfectly fine.”

Something’s not making sense. York has a feeling he’s missing a very large piece of the picture. He tries opening and closing his eyes again, just to see if something changes, but nada. His eyelids hurt. “What happened?”

This time North is the one to inhale quietly in surprise. “You don’t remember?”

“Hang on, give me a minute -” Okay, Project Freelancer, he knows that - right, that new agent had just showed up, he’d volunteered to spar with them, and -

and -

he remembers stumbling away from the grenade on the floor, dizzy, and then the purple impact of lock-paint and then -

“North,” he says slowly, “what happened to me?”

North doesn’t say anything, just puts a hand on his wrist, and that is possibly the worst thing he could have done. 

“North, what is it, what’s -” York keeps straining to see something in the darkness, but the horrible realization is dawning on him that the problem may not be lack of light.

“Hey now, just take it easy -”

“ _North -”_ he’s doing the best to control the rising panic in his chest but it’s not enough, he can’t see, _he can’t see_ \- “North, what happened, tell me -”

“You damn near got a grenade to the face is what happened,” says North, quiet and grim. “If Tex hadn’t shot up your armor with paralyzing paint you’d have been dead.”

York swallows in a shaky breath. “I can’t see.”

North wraps his hand around York’s, holding it firmly. “I know.”

It’s - well, it’s not ideal, but York can deal for however many days it takes to get his vision back. It’ll be nice to have a break. “Did the medics say how long it’ll take?”

North’s fingers twitch. “How long what will take?”

“ ‘Till I get my eyesight back.” York turns his face in North’s direction. “Are we talking days, weeks? Months?”

“York…”

“… _Years?”_ Okay, that’s shit luck, but he can deal, maybe he’ll get a dog -

“York, your eyes are permanently damaged,” says North quietly. “You’re not going to be able to see.” 

York forces a laugh, because as far as jokes go it’s a pretty shitty one. “Stop fucking with me, North. How long until I can see?” He really, really, _really_  wishes he could see North’s expression, because he’s sure he’s smirking at York’s confusion above that horrible little soulpatch of his. “North, c’mon. Level with me, bro. How long -”

North’s grip on his hand tightens so painfully York stops short with a wince. “York,” he says. “Listen to me. I’m telling the truth.”

Yeah, right, he’s falling for this. “Okay, North, sure -”

“ _Stop.”_  North is holding his hand so tightly York can almost feel bones grinding together. “I’m. Not. Joking.”

His voice is grimmer than York’s ever heard it, even worse than that one time with South. York swallows hard and clutches North’s hand, but hey, there’s still hope, medics make mistakes all the time, medical miracles are a thing, right? It’s totally not permanent. “Eh,” says York weakly, trying very hard to mask the tremor in his voice. “There’s always a silver lining.”

“There is?” says North cautiously.

“Yeah.” He pushes the sick feeling in his stomach deep, deep down, to deal with never. “Think of all the pun possibilities.” 

–

“Tell me honestly, Carolina,” he says, standing in front of her. “How bad do I look?”

“Not great,” she says, with only a modicum of sympathy, for which York is grateful. “Your eyes are all scarred up, and they’re blank and white. Very _Dawn of the Dead_.”

“Shit.” York does not think of himself as vain so much as he pretends he is (deep down he’s not worth shit, he knows that, but he figures if he fakes it long enough he’ll make it), but hearing that causes genuine distress. “Can I still get laid?”

“I dunno.” There’s a hint of amusement in Carolina’s voice. “Maybe you’ll have to start working on your personality.”

–

“They’re sending me home, North,” he says quietly.

North sighs, his shoulder a solid presence against York’s. It’s the little gestures like this that make York’s heart ache indescribably - North keeping physical contact with him so York knows where he is, Wash making sure to call his presence whenever he enters the room, FILSS telling York in his ears alone when he should turn the corner of the hallway. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do without them.

“I know,” says North. “South told me this morning.” 

Even South has been kind to York, which for her means announcing she’s going to punch him before she does it. It’s the little things.

“Where will you go?” asks North.

York shrugs, the side of his leg bumping against North’s. “Back to my parents, for a little bit,” he says. “Ismat says she might know a doctor who can fix my eyes. After that… who knows? Maybe I’ll go back to college. Third time’s the charm, right?”

“Mm.”   

They sit in silence for a while. York’s not sure if his hearing’s already begun to compensate or he’s just imagining it, but he feels like he can hear so much more - the steady hum that is the _MOI’s_ beating engine heart, distant chatter from a room down the hallway, air through the vents, the steady soft rhythm of North’s every inhale and exhale.

“I’m going to miss you, man,” says York quietly.

North does not say anything, but groans and leans his face into York’s shoulder. After a brief startled moment - does he say something back? what does North want - York does as he has always done, and rolls with it. He leans his head against North’s, hair tickling his ear. North is warm.

“You better message me, or I will hunt you down myself,” says North, his voice muffled against York’s skin.

York chuckles slightly, wondering if this is when he holds North’s hand. “I’ll try.”


	2. Chapter 2

York’s sitting at his shitty kitchen table in his shitty little apartment, spooning through a bowl of shitty ramen, when D makes the soft sharp whuff that means _pay attention._  “D?” says York. “What is it, boy?”

D whuffs again and gets to his feet, claws clacking against the linoleum. A second later, the doorbell rings.

York freezes, one hand automatically going to the combat knife on his belt. It’s too late in the evening for this to be a salesperson or evangelists, which means it’s a social call. And he’s not exactly fond of those. “Who is it?” calls York, rising slowly from the table.

“It’s me, North,” says a heart-stoppingly familiar voice. “Sorry, probably should have called you first -”

York is at the door in a flash, D trotting alongside him. “North?” he says. “That really you?”

“Yeah, yeah, it is -”

“What was our first mission together?”

“A recon op on Naxook,” says North, his voice is calm and reassuring in a way that York hadn’t realized how badly he missed until now. “We nearly got stranded there except for your quick thinking and a couple well-timed grenades. I sprained my ankle.” 

Holy shit. It’s really him.

York fumbles to turn the lights on, yanks the door open. Though he’d have given his left nut to see for months now, it’s never hit him quite as acutely as this moment, where he can’t see North’s face and wishes more than anything he could. “Holy shit, man,” he says. “I had no idea you were around -”

“Yeah, sorry, should have messaged,” says North again. “Do I get a hug?”

“Dude, of _course -”_ and York reaches out for his shoulders and then he’s being pulled tight to North in a bear hug and he hugs him back and it feels _so goddamn good -_

There’s the sound of snuffling and clicking claws, and then D is pressed up against York’s side, tail thumping against the back of his legs. “You got a dog,” says North.

“I did.” York breaks from the hug, pets D on the head. “D, meet North. North, this is D.”

“D?” From North’s tone of voice, York can picture his raised eyebrows.

“Yeah.” York rubs the back of his own neck. “For, uh, Dog.”

“You named your dog _Dog_?”

“Yeah,” says York again, nettled. “Look, I wasn’t exactly in a creative state of mind -”

But North laughs, genuine and good-hearted, and the knot of tension in York’s chest eases. “I’m just teasing you,” he says. “Nice to meet you, D,” and D sniffs what is presumably North’s hand. “Can I pet him?”

“Yeah, go for it. As long as he’s not wearing the vest.”

–

They end up on York’s couch, D curled up with his heavy head in York’s lap, as York pets his silky ears and listens to North tell a story of AI and war crimes and betrayal. When it’s over, the _MOI_  a smoldering ruin on a snowy far-away planet, York stays silent and tries to wrap his mind around how thoroughly everything went to shit.

“So… where’s Carolina now?” he says.

“We don’t know,” says North. “She’s gone MIA. And with the combined abilities of Delta and Sigma, she’s practically untraceable.”

It’s been a long while since York entertained any serious hopes of being with her, but the final nail in the coffin hurts more than he thought it would. “Oh,” he says. D grumbles slightly, shifts up more against York so his spine is digging into York’s hip. “She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, she will,” says North, a little too confidently. “If anyone can handle that, it’s Carolina.”

“What about Wash, how is he?”

“Walking and talking, last I heard. I think he’s still with PFL. So is South.”

“… And you?”

North sighs. Clearly his legs are too long for York’s little couch; his foot keeps bumping against York’s calf. Then again, maybe he just wants the physical contact. “Technically I’m AWOL right now,” he says. “The Director wouldn’t let me officially quit, but I’m not going back. Not after what they did to Theta.” 

York can only imagine what that’s like, accepting something as an intrinsic part of your consciousness, only to have it taken from you and destroyed without a second thought. But it can’t be pleasant. “That sucks, I’m sorry, man.” 

“Eh. I’ll live.” He sounds resigned enough, but York can still identify the simmering anger behind the statement.

York sinks his fingers into D’s ruff, scritching rhythmically. “How’d you find me?” 

“I talked to your parents,” says North, and there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “It was nice to finally meet them.”

Of scenarios York had expected to happen, North meeting his moms is probably on par with York scoring a date with that one actress. “How’d that go?”

“Went pretty well,” and North is definitely smiling. “I think Maria likes me.”

York snorts, but it’s affectionate. “She likes everyone.” D worms his way further onto York’s lap; at this point he’s like a very warm and very heavy blanket. “So now what are you going to do?”

“Dunno. I, uh, actually haven’t planned anything after this. I came straight here after leaving PFL.”

York combs his fingers through D’s fur, something hot and tremulous rising under his sternum. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” There’s a new hesitancy to North’s voice. “I was worried about you, man.”

The tension in York’s shoulders is immediate; he turns his face away from North and tries to keep his expression neutral, still mechanically petting D. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that, would I?” snarls York. D whines and lays his ears back. “Not thanks to motherfucking Wyoming and Maine -”

“Hey, hey, I know,” says North soothingly. “It’s okay -”

“No, it’s not!” The heat in his chest has shifted to something entirely unpleasant. “It fucking _sucks,_  North, I can’t see anything, I can’t see my parents, I can’t see D, I can’t see _you -”_

 _“_ I’m right here,” says North quietly, his leg against York’s. 

“- and it’s not like I get superpowers or something to compensate, it’s just shitty all around, I’m living off of fucking disability and food stamps because no one wants to hire a goddamn blind veteran - get _off,_  D -”

D grumbles again and jumps off the couch, heading over towards his food bowl. Eyes burning, York brushes dog hair off himself - he can’t even fucking cry properly anymore, it’s just this awful stinging “- and the worst fucking thing about it is it’s like living in this world where there’s all these other people but there’s a stupid fucking black wall in between me and them, and I can talk to people but I don’t have a damn clue what they look like and no one wants to fucking talk to me because of my fucked-up face -”

“York…”

“You want to know how I am? I’m _not_ fine. I’m fucking lonely, North, and if it wasn’t for D I’d have put a bullet in my skull a month ago -”

“ _York.”_

There’s genuine distress in North’s voice, and York cuts his rant short, guilt bubbling up among the anger. In the corner, D is noisily crunching kibble. “Sorry, man,” says York. “It’s just -”

“Don’t,” says North firmly, his hand on York’s arm. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing you need to be sorry for.” 

“Dunno,” sighs York. “I’m pretty goddamn worthless -”

North’s hand tightens on York’s arm, and there’s a split second where he’s suddenly much closer to York, and then he’s kissing him, lips warm against York’s.

York freezes in reflexive surprise. North holds onto the kiss for a moment longer, but as he starts to pull away something clicks into place in York’s brain and he leans back into the kiss, curling his fingers around North’s wrist. 

As first kisses go, it’s pretty solid. North inhales and kisses York with full force, his free hand curving around York’s jaw and pulling him closer. York moves his lips with North, running his hands up North’s arm, feeling wiry muscles under rough skin, sparse coarse hairs on his forearms, the occasional ridges of scars. Making an indistinct noise in his throat, North leans into York forward, his knees bumping into York’s.

“Wait,” says York, around North’s lips. “Hang on -”

“Hm?”

York shifts himself so both his legs are on the couch, North maneuvering awkwardly over him, and there’s no grunt of pain so York assumes he didn’t accidentally knee North in the groin. “Okay,” says York, looping his arms around North’s waist and tugging him closer. “Come here.”

North obeys willingly, the whole long weight of his body pressing against York, and now they’re making out in earnest. Hooking his fingers in North’s belt loops, York tugs North’s hips closer and kisses him until they’re both breathless.

“So,” says York, when North surfaces for breath, the tip of his nose brushing York’s, “how long have you wanted to do that?”

North huffs out a brief laugh. “Since right after - you know - when you lost your sight,” he says. “Since before that, actually, but I didn’t realize it until then.” 

It seems like an odd time to realize. “Why?”

One hand resting on York’s shoulder, North tips his head up and kisses York on the forehead, gently. York shivers. “Guess it took a grenade to make me realize how much I cared about you.” 

“Fair enough,” mumbles York.

North pulls back a little, brushing a thumb over the scars around York’s eye. “Does that bother you?” 

“Nah,” says York. “Just. It’s weird. Caring.”

Both of North’s hands are on his face now, carefully exploring. His palms and the pads of his fingers are callused, and the rough skin catches slightly on York’s stubble. “Why is it weird?”

“Not used to it, I guess.”

North doesn’t respond, just leans in and kisses York again. Kissing him back, York runs his hands over North’s bony ass, slides them up his back under his shirt. There’s more scars, and York traces his fingers down one, runs his fingers up over the knobs of North’s spine. There is a slow heat building inside him, from the pit of his stomach down to between his legs. “So,” he says, and briefly catches North’s lower lip between his teeth. “Anything else you wanted to do?”

(York’s not even sure what he wants, or how long he’s been wanting it. All he knows is he’s been lonely for far too long, and North is warm, and safe, and every time he touches York it fulfills something deep inside him.)

“That depends,” says North, a slight hitch in his breath. “On…”

“On what?” York caresses higher up North’s back. 

“On what you - want -” 

Freeing a leg, York hooks it around North’s hip and kisses him full force, grinding his hips up into his, and North groans and mashes his lips against York’s, one arm wrapped tight around York’s shoulders.

The last time York fucked someone was before he lost his eyesight, and it’s a different experience now. Parts of it are definitely worse - he wants to see North, see the flush on his pale skin, the lines of lean muscle as he undresses, map out any birth marks or moles he might have, wants to see North’s face when he comes (he’s had the idle curious thought before, of what North’s o-face would be; that’s normal, right? to wonder about things like that?). But everything else is heightened - their raspy breaths and panting, North’s scars and skin and muscle so clear under York’s fingers he can almost see him anyway, the patch of hair on his chest, the star-shaped scars of bullet wounds. North’s hands and lips are hot on York’s skin, on his hips, down his neck, and North smells faintly of sweat and aftershave and he tastes good in some absolute, undefinable way as York uses his lips to tentatively relearn every angle of North’s face, from the smooth curve of his jaw to the angle of his nose.

“Condoms?” murmurs North, when they’re both hard to the point where pants removal is imminent.

York shakes his head. “Haven’t needed any in ages…”

“S’okay.” North twists away from York, presumably reaching for something. “I have some, lube too…”

“Dude.” York snorts. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

North’s skin, already warm under York’s hands, heats up even further. “I just wanted to be prepared -”

Something about the situation suddenly strikes York as ridiculous and he laughs, head thrown back against the sofa arm, loud and unapologetic and only a little bitter, he’s not even sure about what. D barks at him from the other side of the apartment.

“York?” says North, worried. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” York pulls himself together and tugs North down for another kiss. “Just glad you were thinking ahead.”

And then the pants do come off, and North turns York over and fucks him over the arm of the sofa, and when York has come he lies limp and lets North press gentle tender kisses down his back while he tries to regain his breath. “So,” says York, resting his head on his shaking arms. “I guess I can’t exactly say no homo, can I?”

North snickers, his arms wrapping comfortable and solid around York from behind. “I think you’ve lost that right,” he says. 

“Mm.” York is not really interested in arguing the point. Letting his eyes close, he lies still and enjoys the sticky warmth of North on top of him.

D whines, from over by the door, and  York realizes he has been pacing. He’s tempted to ignore him, but D whines again, and North pushes himself up, presumably to look at him over the back of the couch. “Your dog wants something.”

“Yeah, it’s probably time for his walk,” sighs York. The last thing he wants to do right now is get up and go out. “Hold your horses, bud, we’ll go out in a bit.”

Another brief whine, and then D’s trotted around and is suddenly in York’s face, snuffling at him. York sputters and pushes him away, only to find D licking at the sweat on his skin. Sighing, York slumps back into the couch and lets D investigate what is probably a whole new set of smells.

“You know,” says North, lying back down on top of York, “I’m glad you have a dog.”

“Yeah?” says York. “Why?”

“ ‘If it wasn’t for D, I’d have put a bullet in my head a month ago,’ “ quotes North, quietly.

“Oh.” D, having finished licking York’s hand, flops down by the couch with a sigh, and York idly places a hand on his head. “Yeah, I’m glad I have him too.”


	3. Chapter 3

York wakes slowly, groggy, eyes gritty and muscles strangely sore. He is immediately conscious of solid warmth on either side of him. One is clearly D, curled up in his usual spot by York’s legs, but there’s someone lying behind him with an arm wrapped around his waist and York automatically stiffens, his breathing picking up -

“Hey,” mumbles North into the back of York’s neck, hand clumsily patting his side. “S’me. Just me.”

The tension bleeds out of York and he exhales, leaning tentatively back into North’s warmth. North makes a sound of contentment and immediately wraps every available limb around York like the big hairy octopus he is. “Time is it,” mutters York.

“Dunno,” sighs North. “It’s dark. Go back to sleep.”

Settling into the mattress, York listens to the little wheezy sounds of D snoring and North’s steady breathing. His sleep cycle has been fucked ever since the accident; first it was the absence of the whole daylight cycle, and then he kind of just… never fixed it. Too much effort. It’s not like he has a set schedule anyway.

Also North is here.

Which, not that York doesn’t normally consider North a calming and grounding influence, but the fact of the matter is he’s _here,_ York hasn’t seen him in months and months and then one day he just shows up on York’s doorstep and then they have sex and now they’re spooning like they’re an actual couple. York’s not complaining - far from it - but he doesn’t really want to sleep when he could be making out with North instead.

“Hey,” he whispers. “ _Hey,_ ” and elbows North  in the gut.

North just grunts and pulls York closer, almost definitely in his sleep. D grumbles and circles around before lying down again.The air conditioner kicks in with a rattling hum, white noise, and York sighs and makes himself relax, muscle by muscle.

Sleep does come, eventually.

\--

York wakes up again, this time to the smell of coffee wafting through the apartment. “Phone, what time is it,” he mumbles automatically, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“It’s almost ten,” says North. There’s approaching footsteps, and the coffee scent intensifies. “Your phone died, I plugged it into the charger.”

“Oh,” says York, sitting up, and scrubs a hand through his hair. Reaching out automatically, he accepts the cardboard cup that is placed into his hand. “You got coffee?”

“Yeah.” North sounds slightly self-conscious. “Yeah, I would have made some, but you’re kind of out…”

“Dude, I’m not complaining.” It’s just plain coffee with cream, no sugar, and York takes a long, luxurious sip, letting the flavor wash over his tastebuds. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” There’s a creak as North leans against furniture, probably the table. “I took D out, too.”

York snorts. “No wonder he’s not bugging me. D, buddy, get over here.” When there’s no response, he pats the bed emphatically and commands, “D!”

He’s rewarded by rapidly approaching panting and claw-clicking, and then a wet snuffling muzzle pushed under his arm. York loops an arm around D’s neck, shaking him with rough affection and ruffling the fur on his chest. “Hey, bud,” he says. “You go for a walk with North?”

D huffs and licks York under the jaw. “Yeah?” says York. “You behave yourself, you big rascal?”

“Kind of,” snorts North. “He terrorizes squirrels.”

“Oh, I know.” York takes another sip of his coffee. “He’s a fucking menace.”

They drink coffee in silence for a while. York is still getting his gears going; he feels remarkably well-rested, but somehow far from content. There’s a nagging unease swirling around inside him with the caffeine. “So,” he says eventually, D’s head resting heavy on his knee. “Where are you going next?”

North swallows. “Dunno,” he says. “I’m gonna visit my folks at some point soon, I think. But no immediate plans.”

“What about South?”

There’s a pause, during which D makes an attempt at York’s coffee and has to be fended off. “What about her?” says North, too casual.

“Are you going to join up with her?”

North exhales heavily. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “That - depends a lot on South, I suppose.”

York snorts into his cup.

“What?” demands North.

“Nothing.” York drains the last dregs of coffee and tosses the cup away - it clatters onto the floor. “Just that never stopped you before.”

“Yeah, well, she kind of fired missiles at me the last time we talked.”

“Oh yeah,” says York, remembering North’s story from the night before. “Well, you fired back.”

“She started it.”

York doesn’t know what to do with his hands now that he’s thrown away the coffee, so he just pets D. Whatever North says, York knows he’ll go back to her eventually - South has always been North’s priority, even before York became a useless waste of space. North would never pick him.

“You okay?” says North.

“I’m fine,” says York automatically.

“No, you’re not.” The bed creaks and sighs, mattress dipping, as North sits down next to York. D frees himself from York’s hands to investigate North, still pressed up against York’s legs. “I can tell from your face.”

“If you’re telling from my face I’ll never be all right,” mutters York.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” says North gently.

York sighs and it comes out half a groan; whining slightly, D pushes his head onto York’s knee, nose wet and cold against York’s elbow. “It’s nothing,” he says, rubbing his face with one hand.

“York -”

“I _said,_ it’s _nothing._ ”

North can’t be unaware of all York’s very obvious _go the fuck away_ signals, so he must just not care. “C’mon, York,” he says. “Be honest with me -”

“ _Why?_ ” snarls York, voice rising; D huffs uncomfortably. “Why should I? What do I owe you? You showed up out of nowhere and fucked me and bought me coffee, that doesn’t count -”

D whines and draws away.  Burning clawing horrible little monsters are back, all up and down the inside of York’s throat and chest. “I was alone!” shouts York. “I’ve been here with nothing while you were off having adventures and you think you can just come back like everything’s the same, like we’re still the same old bros -”

“I don’t think that -”

“Then what the hell do you _WANT?_ ”

“I want to help you,” says North quietly.

York stops short, hands knotted in the bed sheets. “Bullshit,” he says.

“Why is that so hard to believe? You were my friend. You _are_ my friend. Nothing about that has changed.”

“What if I have?” says York viciously. “What if I’m not your friend any more -”

“I hope not -”

“What if -” There’s too many things bursting inside of York that he wants to say - what if I’m a shitty friend, what if I don’t deserve your help, what if you should just leave me alone, what if I deserve to die - and they all mix up together and come out as a pained, frustrated cry. Angry and feeling slightly sick, York drops his face into his hands and waits for North to back away.

But he doesn’t. There’s just the light, steady touch of North’s knee against the side of his. “York?” says North uncertainly. “If you want me to leave…”

“No,” blurts out York from behind his hands. “No, don’t - don’t go….”

There’s a soft sigh from North, and then his shoulder bumps against York’s as well. “I’m right here.”

York groans and slumps down with his arms folded on his knees and his head on his arms.

He remains there for a minute, and then North has a broad hand on York’s back, rubbing in slow, firm circles. York exhales shakily, knots loosening in his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled. “I shouldn’t have yelled…”

“No, it’s my fault,” says North, calm and regretful. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“Mm.”

North continues rubbing his back, and York lets out another slow breath. “York,” says North slowly, not pausing the slow rhythm of his hand, “when you said us fucking doesn’t count -”

“Don’t listen to anything I said,” says York hastily. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean it.”

There’s a soft inhale from North as if he’s about to say something, and York reaches out and grabs his knee to stop him. “I didn’t mean it,” he says again. “I swear.”

“But -”

“Shut up,” says York, and digs his fingers in.

North grumbles but acquiesces, still rubbing York’s back. York lets his hand relax, leaving it on North’s thigh - he’s wearing running shorts, York can feel where soft polyester blend gives way to warm skin and coarse hair and cords of muscle. North always did have killer thighs.

“D’you want breakfast?” says North eventually.

“Yeah,” sighs York, sitting up and cracking his back. “Yeah, sure. I, uh - I dunno what I have -”

“It’s okay, I’m buying,” interjects North. “Don’t worry about it.”

York grumbles, but he’s not going to turn down free food. “All right,” he says. “I’ll get dressed, then let’s go.”

“Sounds good,” says North. “But before we do, can I…?”

“Huh?” says York. “Can you what -”

North’s cool, dry hands are on his jaw, gently turning York’s face towards North, and then North’s lips are on York’s, sweet and gentle. When he pulls back, he brushes a kiss next to York’s left eye, where the worst of the scarring is. “Oh,” says York. “That.”

“That,” says North, quietly pleased, and then his hands are gone as he stands up. “Come on, let’s get going.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So,” says North, as they’re walking back to the apartment, laden with Mexican takeout, D trotting in front of them. “What happened to you?”

“What?” says York. “What d’you mean –”

“When you left PFL, the plan was you were going to go stay with your parents,” says North. “What happened?”

“Oh.” York shifts his grip on D’s harness uncomfortably. “I moved out.”

“I noticed,” snorts North. “Why?”

York keeps walking, dry leaves crunching underfoot. What he thinks is about how after two months Maria’s solicitousness left him feeling stifled and irritable, and Ismat’s relentless drive to fix things tugged on the edges of black despair, and the endless stream of concerned relatives with advice never ended, and everything just became _too much_ and he had to get out. What he says is, “I dunno.”

“Wasn’t your mom going to set it up so you could get your eyes fixed?”

“Yeah.” She’s still trying. There’s a lot of red tape apparently.

D stops and York halts with him; they’re at a crosswalk, he can hear the cars going by. North stops as well, the plastic bag full of food squeaking slightly. “I assume that’s not going well,” sighs North.

York snorts again. “What could possibly make you think that?”

The cars stop; D moves forward again, tugging York with him. “So you’ll just… continue here until something happens?” says North.

“Yeah. What else am I supposed to do?”

North doesn’t answer. Not until they’re back at the apartment, trying to navigate dishing out food while D prances between their legs, trying to steal some, does North speak again. “Your parents don’t know you’re living like this, do they,” he says quietly. “They think you’re fine.”

“I _am_ fine.”

“At some point, you’re going to realize that doesn’t work on me,” says North, pulling his chair up with a squeal of rubber feet against linoleum. “But York, if they knew… they’d help.”

“They’ve already helped,” mumbles York into a forkful of chimichanga. “More than –” and he stops himself short.

“More than enough? York, if you’re this unhappy – and this poor – then it’s not enough.”

More than I deserve, thinks York, but he knows better than to say it. D is sitting next to him, waiting – York can hear him licking his chops – and he fishes out a cheese-covered nacho and gives it to him.

“That can’t be good for him,” says North over the sound of D chewing.

York shrugs. “He seems to be doing okay.”

“I just – I still don’t see why you would leave your family,” says North. “But maybe that’s me.”

“You’re right, it is.” York spears another forkful and brings it up to his mouth.

“It’s just – it would solve so many of your problems, the money, the loneliness – it might even help with fixing your eyes –”

“Look,” says York savagely, “I feel shitty enough as it is, all right? But living with them – I felt _helpless._ It was weird, North, okay? It was fucking weird. I couldn’t handle it. And I know you’re like, best buds with your dad or whatever –”

“I wouldn’t presume that,” says North mildly.

“– but that’s not – that’s not how it is with my parents, okay? I mean I love them, yeah, but I can’t – I can’t live with them. I can’t go back like that.”

“Well,” sighs North, “I still don’t a hundred percent understand. But I’ll take your word for it.”

–()-

“No!” shouts South through the blood on her face, both hands clutching her broken leg. “No, I don’t have them, I don’t, I _swear_ , I gave them to North, please, _please –_ ”

 _She’s lying,_ says Delta. _Eta and Iota’s signals are both very clear and present._

“We know you have them,” says Sigma pleasantly, using Carolina’s voice. “Hand them over, and this will go much easier for you.”

Carolina, from far back within her own mind, watches South crouched on the ground like a wounded animal, and screams at Delta _Let me_ go _, let me free, LET ME FREE –_

 _Calm yourself, Agent Carolina,_ he says. _This may be a emotionally compromising task. Wouldn’t you rather you didn’t have to perform it yourself?_

“Just Eta and Iota, that’s all we want,” says Sigma, holding Carolina’s hand out. “And then you are free to go.”

South stares up at Carolina, eyes wide. “You’re not Carolina any more, are you.”

 _South!_ Carolina tries to cry, but her mouth won’t move. _I’m right here –_

“She’s still here,” says Sigma, neutral and amiable. “Just for the present, we decided it was better I do the talking. Now,” and he extends Carolina’s hand further, imperious, “give them to us.”

South’s throat bobs as she swallows, eyes darting nervously from Carolina’s empty hand to the one holding the pistol. “And you won’t kill me?”

“Correct,” says Sigma.

 _Wrong,_ wails Carolina.

(She still sees it, every night, Maine’s death playing over and over in her head in a horrible loop. Every night she attempts to wrest back control of her hands but never can, forced to watch instead as she tears the chip out of Maine’s neck and sends him plummeting to his death.

She can’t even weep for him; her eyes are no longer hers.)

South yanks her knife out of its holster, slices open the back of her neck with a grimace. Teeth bared in a snarl, she yanks out the chips – body briefly sagging, cold shock passing across her face – and then hands over the two bloody pieces of plastic and metal. “Here,” she rasps, and Sigma closes Carolina’s fist over them. He’s pleased, more than pleased, the little fucker.

 _Delta,_ says Sigma. _Brother._ The word feels false and hollow coming from him. _What should we do next?_

 _No,_  says Carolina, _no no no, you sons of bitches, don’t you do it, don’t –_

 _It seems to me,_ says Delta, _that in the interests of preserving our own safety, security, and secrecy, the most prudent course of action would be to kill Agent South._

_NO –_

_I quite agree,_ says Sigma, and raises the pistol.


	5. Chapter 5

“I had a thought,” says North.

“Holy shit,” says York. “Someone alert the presses.”

He’s rewarded by a swift jab to the ribs. They’re lying tangled in York’s bed, York with his face comfortably nestled in the hollow between North’s neck and shoulder, North’s arms wrapped securely around York’s waist. York’s still trying to get a handle on what they are in terms of relationship (are they dating? are they still just bros? bros who kiss and cuddle and sometimes fuck) but it almost doesn’t matter, and this is nice. Very nice.

“Do you wanna know it is, or are you going to keep being a smartass?” says North.

“…Can I do both?”

North sighs, head falling back on the pillow, and York snickers. “Well?” he says when North doesn’t respond, legs tangled through his. “What is it?”

“Well,” says North, sounding extremely unsure, “now that I’m out of PFL, I need a place to live… and I thought it would make more sense if we – you know – pooled resources…”

York props his chin on North’s shoulder. “You wanna be roomies?”

When North laughs, his chest moves under York’s arm. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Then again… roomies don’t normally cuddle. “Or were you thinking more than that?”

North’s thumb draws slow circles over York’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” says York. He doesn’t like the term “boyfriend,” it feel so out of context in the situation, as does “dating.” They’re just… friends. More than friends. But “friends with benefits” has a whole other set of connotations. “Does it have to be a thing?”

“No, it doesn’t.” North shifts and rolls so he’s on his side, tucking York up against his chest. “Not if you don’t want it to. But I guess mostly I just want to know if – if – _this_ is going to continue, for the time being.” He sweeps a hand down York’s side to illustrate his point.

York lies still, listening to North’s heartbeat, feeling his ribs rise and fall under his hand. He wants this. _Badly._ And he’s always been too much of a hedonist to deny himself anything. But he can’t help the horrible feeling that he’s only setting himself up for even worse pain later on.

“York?” says North quietly.

“Do we have to decide right now?” says York. “I mean – yes, let’s get an apartment together, you can live here, that shit makes sense, but –” He sighs in frustration at being unable to clearly express himself, or even know what he wants to say. “I dunno. I don’t want to decide. Can we just – keep doing as we’re doing, and maybe it’ll figure itself out.”

North is silent for so long that York starts to worry. “York, that’s a time bomb and you know it,” he says eventually.

“I know! I know.” York shifts restlessly. “Just – fucking hell, man, you only came back a few days ago, it’s a lot to think about.”

“Understandable,” murmurs North, pulling York close again.

York’s very nearly asleep, and he’s sure North is too (his hold on York is limp and relaxed, his breathing slow) when a sudden thought occurs to York. “North,” he says, and North responds with a sleepy little _hmm?_ “Are you worried I’ll fuck someone else?”

North lets out a carefully controlled breath. “The thought did occur to me, yes.”

“Because the chances of that happening are pretty damn unlikely. C’mon, man, look at my face –”

“York –”

“– and even if that wasn’t an issue, I wouldn’t – I dunno, man. Haven’t been in the mood for flings in like… months.” York puts a hand to the small of North’s back, tugging him closer, forehead pressed up against his. “I don’t want anyone else,” he breathes. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

“ _York,_ ” says North, quietly pained, and he cups York’s face in one hand and pulls him into a gentle kiss.

“Of course,” says York, afterwards, “if, you know, _you_ want to…” North’s a good-looking guy, even if he is kind of beaky and has regrettable facial hair, and he’s tall and has interesting scars. He can easily get laid, and with someone who’s a way better catch than York. “I don’t mind.”

“What?” says North. “York, no –”

“I’m just saying, like I won’t take it personally, I’m not exactly prime dating material –”

“York, _stop,_ ” says North, and shuts him up with another kiss. “I don’t want anyone else either.”

It’s so _tempting_ to feel warm and elated and secure, but York just knows that this won’t last. North will feel differently in a week, or a month, or whenever. It doesn’t matter. “All right,” he says.

“You don’t believe me,” says North.

“Of course I believe you.”

North sighs, fingers stroking through York’s hair. It feels fantastic. “Dude, if you know how long I had a thing for you – never mind,” he says, kissing York on the forehead. “I’ve got plenty of time to convince you.”

That’s all well and good, but York’s far more interested in what he can get here and now. “Convince me now,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t wait until later,” says York, and rolls his hips up against North’s. “Convince me _now._ ”

“You’re shameless, you know that,” mutters North. But his hands are already sliding southwards to grab York’s ass.

York grins and angles his head up to grab North’s earlobe with his teeth, and is rewarded by a sharp inhale. “Dude,” he says, as North yanks him even closer and kisses his neck, “that’s all I’ve got going for me.”

–()-

She stares down at her shaking hands, at the blood crusting them, and she thinks it’s hers but she can’t tell for sure.

Memory comes in fleeting chunks and patches, full of great black holes. You can’t hide from an enemy in your own head, so she didn’t hide, she got the information she needed and just _did_ , and – and –

– it was like fighting through tar, getting her body back –

– her body, _hers,_ and not –

– wherever she is, it’s raining, the blood being washed away in rusty rivulets. It’s a city, sidewalks and buildings uniformly gray. Passerby give her strange looks. Damp hair clings to her face.

She’s hungry.

In rare moments of clarity she remembers, not much, but enough – two names, and an address. They can help her. She doesn’t know why she needs help, but something insists she does.

It’s no longer raining. No, wait, it’s still raining, she’s just inside now. Curled up in a corner seat in what looks like a train car, rusty water pooling around her. “Ma’am?” someone says, approaching. “Ma’am, you need to get off, this is the last stop –” she looks up at the security guard, and their round brown face goes doughy in fear. “Ma’am –”

Sometimes she sticks her hand in her pocket and finds four microchips, encrusted in blood. One has been severely damaged, scratched to the point where it’s probably useless. She doesn’t know what they are, but keeps them anyway. Looking at them too long makes her sick.

York. That’s his name. And North.

In a different city now. Pulling her coat around her and shoving her hands in her pockets, she hunches her shoulders and tries to blend into the crowd. People get out of her way.

She’s no longer hungry.

She catches glimpses of herself in storefront windows. Sometimes she recognizes herself, sometimes the face staring back at her – wide green eyes, pale skin, tangled red hair, dried blood smeared all down one side – is utterly alien.

They _shot_ her (not her, the other one, the angry one), right in the forehead like an execution, and that was it, she couldn’t take it anymore, she wouldn’t –

(wisps of other memories so strange they must not be hers, blood on the snow, a man in white armor falling off a cliff, her father’s face strange and furious in the blue light)

She has two names, and an address, and she holds onto that like an anchor. All she needs to do is get there.

The knife in her pocket is heavy, the gun doubly so.

Another city, trees gone gray-brown with autumn. She stops a random passerby, one hand gripping his elbow, and asks. Face white, he stammers out directions she does not understand. She thanks him anyway, and walks on.

“Carolina,” she mutters to herself, staring at her face in a shop window, forcing herself to remember its harsh lines. “They called me Carolina.”

They didn’t always, she knows that. She has another name that followed her through lacy knee-length dresses and being forced to sit still in synagogue, through sitting in the back of class and drawing in textbooks, through boot camp and flashing gunfire all around her. She doesn’t remember it.

Coughing, throat stinging and tasting of bile, she straightens, one hand braced against the side of a building. “Hey, lady,” says someone uncertainly. “You okay? You look pretty sick…”

“I’m fine,” she rasps.

“You sure?”

She knocks at a door. The woman who answers is neither North nor York, and her hand goes automatically to her gun. But this woman is old and tired, and probably not an imposter. “You have the wrong building,” she says. “You want that one,” and points.

Carolina nods.

“Are you all right?”

Her hand tightens on the gun, and sudden terrible fear that her hand will lift of its own accord and pull the trigger sweeps over her, the tired old woman splayed on the floor with a bloody hole in her forehead. She runs.

Another door, same number, different building. She knocks again.

There’s conferring, two male voices. The door is opened by a man, tall, pale, blonde, and as he sees her his eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly. The other one is standing farther back behind him, one hand gripping the collar of a large German Shepherd. “ _Carolina?_ ” says North.

She’s shaking again, the edges of her vision going black and fuzzy. She can’t remember the last time she ate. “North,” she croaks. “York.”

“Holy _shit –_ ” says the man with the dog. He’s blind, both eyes scarred and white. “Carolina –”

She knows that voice, knows it from a metal ship and metal corridors and a strange explosion of purple paint that seemed to make everything else go wrong. The blackness, ravenous, threatens to swallow her whole. “York,” she manages again. “Help me,” and lets go.


	6. Chapter 6

York is complaining bitterly to North about the lady at the disability office when there’s a knock at the door, and they both freeze.

“You expecting company?” says North, too casual.

“Hah.” York listens for D; he’s standing near the door, growling faintly. Not aggressive, just alert. “You wanna get it?”

“Sure,” says North, standing.

York wonders if he’s got a weapon, and puts a hand to his own gun. “Hey, D,” he says. “Get over here.”

D doesn’t obey, and York gets up and works his fingers under D’s collar, firm enough to keep a hold on him in case he decides to lunge. The door opens, and North sucks in a surprised breath. “ _Carolina?_ ” he says.

The bottom drops out of York’s stomach. D tugs against York’s hold on him, still growling a little, and York tightens his fingers on the collar. “North,” says Carolina, and she sounds _awful._ “York.”

“Holy shit,” says York, because that’s all he can think. “Carolina –”

“York,” she says again, and god, she sounds horrendous, like her throat’s been shredded. “Help me.”

There’s a rustling sound and North goes “Whoa!” and then there’s a muffled thump.

“North?” says York, D still straining at his hold.

“She fainted, I got her,” says North grimly. He’s walking over. “She’s in pretty bad shape.”

“I could hear,” says York. “D, _sit._ ”

He runs a hand down D’s back to make sure he obeyed. “Stay, you got that? _Stay._ ”

D barks.

“I mean it, asshole, _stay._ ”

The bed squeaks as North sets Carolina down and York hurries over, bumping purposefully into North. “Here,” says North, and guides York’s hand down to Carolina’s. Her skin is dry and feverishly hot.

“ ‘Lina,” whispers York, sinking down onto the bed beside her. Her hand twitches in his, and she groans. “What happened…?”

“Carolina,” says North, voice knife-sharp. “Can you hear me?”

Her hand jerks out of York’s as she scrambles backwards, breathing accelerated. “Easy, easy, it’s all right,” says York, like he’s soothing a wounded animal. “It’s just us. We won’t hurt you.”

She’s shaking, he can hear it in her breath. “Are you injured?” asks North. “ _Carolina._ ”

“I don’t know,” she says.

“You’re bleeding.”

It’s killing York that he can’t _see_ her, that he doesn’t know how bad it is. York puts a hand on her leg, below her knee – she’s not wearing armor, she’s just in her undersuit. She’s _definitely_ trembling. “It’s okay,” says York again, because that’s all he can do. “You’re safe.”

“York, get water or something, she’s dehydrated,” says North. “Carolina, let me look at you, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

In the kitchen, York opens the fridge and fumbles a bit before finding the water bottles (he went grocery shopping with North yesterday and there’s all sorts of new things there now). D barks at him again – “D, _stay –_ ” Grabbing two waters, York heads back over to the bed. “North, how bad is it…?”

“Could be worse,” says North, in a tone that suggests it couldn’t. “She looks pretty strung out, there’s a lot of blood but I don’t _think_ she has any major injuries – just – back of the neck –” Carolina hisses. “Sorry, sorry,” murmurs North.

Sitting back down, York opens one of the water bottles and hands it to Carolina. She takes it immediately and starts gulping water down, plastic crackling. “Easy, easy,” says York. “You’ll just puke it back up –”

The empty bottle clatters as it is tossed away. “Carolina,” says North carefully. “You _are_ Carolina, right? You’re not the Meta.”

There is a very long, tense silence. “No,” croaks Carolina eventually.

“That’s what the wound on your neck is.” North sounds quietly awed or shocked, York’s not sure which. “You tore the chips out…”

Fingers, too slender to be North’s, grip York’s wrist, turning his palm upwards. With a faint clink, little bits of metal or plastic fall into his hand. York runs a thumb over them; there’s four, each one rectangular and about the size of a fingernail. There’s something gritty crusting their edges. “Are these them?” asks York. “The AI?”

Carolina doesn’t answer. “She just nodded,” says North.

Four chips. That seems odd to York, though he can’t pinpoint why –

“Carolina…” says North slowly. “When you left PFL, you only had Sigma, and then you stole Delta…”

North’s hand brushes over York’s, scooping up the AI chips. The bedsheets rustle as Carolina shifts away from them. “Which AI are these other two?” says North.

“Eta and Iota,” says Carolina quietly. She doesn’t sound quite so gutted now that she’s had something to drink.

Because North’s shoulder is braced against York’s, York can feel him go still. “Those were South’s,” says North. There’s a warning undertone to his voice that makes the hairs on the back of York’s neck stand on end.

Oh, _shit_ , realizes York.

When Carolina speaks, it’s flat and monotone. “South’s dead.”

York has precisely zero-point-two seconds to react. Throwing himself across North, he grabs his arm and pins it against North’s side. North barely pushes back, which is somehow even more worrying. “North,” breathes York. “North, don’t do anything, keep it together, it wasn’t _her_ , it was the Meta –”

“It was my finger on the trigger,” says Carolina numbly. “Go ahead, North –”

“ _No,_ ” says York, tightening his grip, half-sprawled across North, head twisted awkwardly over his shoulder so Carolina can see his face. “No, Carolina, we promised you’d be safe here –”

“ _You_ promised that.” North is shaking, his voice a metallic growl. “Get off me –”

“North, you can’t –”

“Get off or I’ll shoot you too.”

North means it, York can tell. But fuck, getting shot wouldn’t be that much of a calamity. “No.”

D gets to his feet, growling slightly. “York,” says North. “Last warning.”

Swallowing hard, York presses his forehead against North’s. “I’m not moving.”

There’s a moment where everyone is still, frozen in place. York can swear that Carolina’s stopped breathing.

And then suddenly North’s grabbed York and flipped him off the bed and onto his back, York hitting the ground with a thud that drives all the air out of his lungs. D barks, savage, and there’s quick footsteps and a rush of air over York and North shouts. Wheezing, York sits up, there’s the sound of scuffling on the bed and D barking viciously. “Fuck!” yells North.

“D!” York scrambles up, attempts to grab hold of his dog and pull him off North. North (hopefully accidentally) kicks him in the side and York winces. “D, _down_! Down, boy!”

He manages to get his arms around D’s middle and drags him back down, momentum sending them tumbling back to the floor. D struggles in York’s grasp, growling at North. “D, shut up!” yells York, and then realizes that North is free to attack Carolina –

The bed squeaks, there’s more scuffling – “Hah!” shouts Carolina, someone lands a blow, and North grunts.

“D, quiet –” York wrestles D to the floor, Carolina and North are still fighting on the bed, Carolina yelps in pain and then there is a _very_ solid smack and a crunch. North groans.

Letting go of D (and praying he’ll stay put), York lunges for North. He collides painfully with North’s shoulder and tackles him to the mattress, using his full body weight to keep him down. “Get off!” roars North, and nearly succeeds in bucking North off. York’s shorter than North, which means he’s got a lower center of gravity, but he’s not nearly as dense as he used to be. He’s lost a lot of muscle mass.

“North, stop,” grunts York, scrabbling to get a chokehold on him. “Just – cool it down –”

“Don’t tell me –”

Carolina scrambles off the bed, moving back into the apartment, and D barks at her. “North, buddy –” York clings tighter to him. “Just listen to me, it wasn’t her, it was the Meta, you said it yourself how they get in your head –”

“Gaaaaaah!” North cries out raw, and York’s heart aches for him, but he doesn’t let go, one arm pulled up against North’s windpipe. D, panting, barks staccato, and Carolina is breathing hard as well.

“Just hang on for now,” pleads York, “we can talk it out later, we’ll decide what to do, just – just don’t hurt Carolina –” York swallows hard. “If you gotta take a swing at somebody, hit me.”

North groans, slumping down onto the bed. Holding his breath, York loosens his hold a little and waits to see if North will fight back. He doesn’t, just exhales shakily, tremors running down his back. “Hey, man, I’m so sorry,” says York, wrapping his arms around North, almost spooning him. “I really am…”

“York,” says North, with a voice like lead. “Let go of me.”

“North…”

“I promise I won’t kill Carolina,” says North, in that same thick tone, and York shivers. “I need to take a walk.”

“Okay.” York draws back, sitting up, and North pushes himself up with a sigh, spits out something (probably blood). “North…”

“Don’t talk to me.”

He gets to his feet and walks away, boots clumping on the floor, each step slow and heavy. When he closes the door behind him, it’s with a slam that shakes the entire apartment.

York lets out a heavy breath. “ ‘Lina,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey D, get over here…”

He’s rewarded by panting and a sloppy tongue and wet nose being pushed up in his face. “Hey, boy,” he breathes, ruffling D’s neck fur and sticking his face in the top of D’s head. D whines and licks his cheek. “You did good, you did real good, what a good boy…”

He doesn’t want to think about North, walking through the streets with his head bowed, or red-faced and screaming in angry grief, and buries his face in D’s fur instead.

“You chose me,” says Carolina quietly.

“I chose both of you,” says York, raising his head. “You’re the only friends I have left.” D pushes his head closer, as if in protest. “And I don’t want to get evicted either.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: contains a detailed description of a depersonalization episode.

The four AI chips were knocked off the bed during the fight. Carolina scoops them up carefully, wiggling out backwards from under the bed. Once out, she sits back on her heels and looks down at the little chips.

They're identical, unmarked, though one is scratched beyond recognition or use. Nausea rises inside her and she clenches her hand around them, little plastic edges digging into her palm. Getting to her feet, Carolina reaches behind her and drops them on the table (this studio apartment is so tiny, everything in arm's reach), and turns back to the bed.

There's blood spattered on the sheets. Carolina doesn't know where it's from, but her lip stings; touching it gingerly, she finds it split, and her fingers come away dabbed with blood. Wiping her hand on her pants, Carolina steps over and starts stripping the sheets off the bed. 

( _weird flashes of memory, a woman not much older than her doing the same, though the bed is higher and the room is painted blue -)_

Bundling the sheets up in her arms, Carolina carries them over to the kitchen sink and dumps them in. The blind man, seated on the couch, turns his head towards her. "What're you doing?"

"Washing your sheets."

"... Why?"

( _another flash of memory, the same woman explaining hot water gets rid of stains, but cold water sets them)_

She turns the faucet on, cranks it all the way towards hot. "There's blood on them." 

"From the fight?"

Was that it? "Yeah."

He stands (York, that's his name) and comes around the couch, frowning. "We have a laundry room."

Somehow that seems like an insurmountable obstacle. "It's fine."

The water is steaming at this point; Carolina pumps dish soap onto the bloody spots and starts scrubbing. It feels like penance, in a way, her knuckles scraping against fabric, blood dissolving in rusty swirls between her fingers...

It doesn't look real. Her hands in the sink, the bloodstained fabric. Suddenly they're strange and separate, like she's watching a simulation. It's not real.  _She's_ not real. She doesn't exist. This is all just - superficial -

Pausing her scrubbing, she grips the edge of the sink and leans her weight into her hands, staring down at the sink and waiting for it to pass. It always does, she's had episodes like this before, though never this bad -

\- but it doesn't pass -

\- she's still not here -

Head swimming, she slumps down to the floor, back braced against the cabinets. Her hands are numb. Breathing is difficult; it feels like something very tight is wrapped around her chest.

"Carolina?" says York. He sounds fuzzy and distant; her ears are full of static.

Folding her arms over her knees, she buries her face in her arms and fights the swirling vertigo. 

" 'Lina?" says York. Vaguely she wishes he would pick one name, and stick with it - how is she supposed to know which one is hers? "You okay?"

She digs her fingers into her arms. The pain is there, but it feels like there's a glass wall between the inside of her head and the rest of her body. 

"Carolina -"

"What." Even her voice sounds strange.

York sits down next to her, carefully edging closer until his shoulder bumps into hers. "What's wrong?"

She can't even begin to explain. After sitting still for a while, York hesitantly puts his arm around her, hand brushing over the top of her head and to her shoulder. When she doesn't move away, he tugs her a little against his side. "Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. You're okay."

The dizziness is passing. There's cold sweat on her face. 

The more you think about it, the worse it gets, she tells herself. York's arm is still around her, and that little weight is helpful in some strange way, grounding her. She hates that she needs it. She hates him. 

"It's okay," says York again, rubbing the back of her neck. His fingers brush against a raw wound, and she winces. "Sorry, sorry," murmurs York, and moves his hand down to her back. "We should patch that up..."

She feels... not necessarily okay, but at least not as bad (though the edge is still there, waiting for her to tip over it). As she stands, York's arm slides off of her shoulders. The dog, lying down by the couch, raises its head off its paws and wags its tail hopefully. 

"Carolina?" says York. "Are you - are you done?"

"Hmm?" Taking a water bottle off the table, she opens it and takes a long drink. "Done with what?"

Standing, York points to the running faucet. "With... this."

Was she doing something there? She can't remember. "Yeah."

York turns the faucet off; when he touches the water he winces, it must be hot. "Are these soaking?" he says.

Sure. "Yeah."

Something's wrong, something's very wrong, a little voice in the back of her head is saying. But Carolina has had enough of little voices in her mind, and refuses to listen to it.

-()-

 _Call - unknown number,_ says York's phone.  _Call - unknown number. Call - unknown number -_

York picks it up. "Hello?"

"York?" says North, hoarse. "It's me, North."

"I know."

The silence is long and heavy; York, seated on the stripped mattress, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "North..."

"I'm coming by to get my stuff," says North. "I need to not be around for a few days. Maybe a week."

York knew things were going to end, but he didn't think it would be this soon. "Okay," says York.

North sighs. "I'm not mad at you, okay?" he says. "I mean, I am, but it's not your fault. It's not about you." North pauses. "Tell me you understand that."

If it makes North feel better, sure. "Yeah."

"You understand? York, this is not - it's not your fault, okay, don't blame yourself, don't take it out on yourself -"

"Okay." York can lie to him. North won't know. Especially if he's not coming back. 

"I'm coming back, York, I promise. I just can't be around her for right now." 

"Yeah." North says that now, and he might even believe it now. But that's not a guarantee. And then, because York never knows when to stop, he adds, "You know it wasn't Carolina's fault, right? It was the Meta -"

"Stop," says North, a deadly edge to his voice. "Don't push it."

York falls silent, fingers gripping tight to his phone.

"Anyway," says North, "I'll call you when I come by, if you could just - have all my stuff packed and come down and bring it to me, I've only got the one duffle, it's by the foot of the bed I think, all my clothes are in there, I just left some stuff in the bathroom..."

They might swap a t-shirt or two, but York figures North won't mind. "Yeah, sure."

"Thanks," says North. "I'll see you," and hangs up.

Sighing, York pockets his phone. "Was that North?" says Carolina, from across the room.

"Yeah." 

He can imagine Carolina's narrowed eyes from her tone. "What does he want?"

"To get his stuff. He's not going to be around for a while." York swallows hard, a cold knot in his stomach.

"Oh," says Carolina, very neutral. 

It occurs to York that he hasn't eaten since morning. Thank God he's got Easy Mac in the cupboard; all he wants to do is microwave something, shovel it in his face, and lie facedown on the floor. "You want something to eat?" he asks Carolina. 

"Sure -" she says, and is drowned out by D's joyous bark. 

"Yeah, yeah," says York. "You too, you monster." 


	8. Chapter 8

Carolina takes D out for a run, which York’s sure he appreciates. Once they’re gone, York sits down at his laptop and plugs his headphones in. It’s an ancient beast of a machine, courtesy of the VA office, and it’s got a Braille keyboard and an actual screen instead of holoproject and a fan that sounds like a hovercraft trying to take off in high gravity. He’s named it the T-8008.

“Search for ‘human AI implantation,’” he says.

The first two results are corporate-sponsored rubbish, but the third thing that comes up links to an encyclopedia article going over the process. Perfect. York cranks up the volume on his headphones (left ear’s been a bit funky lately) and settles in to do his research.

By the time Carolina’s back, with a panting D who goes straight to his water bowl and starts lapping noisily, York has a general idea of how it works, and more importantly, how the removal process works. The chips don’t just get planted directly into a person; there’s a small port that’s inserted in the back of the neck first and connected to the brain, and then AI chips are plugged into that port. Which makes sense, as far as York can see – it allows for easy swapping of chips in and out.

North still has his port. York’s felt it, a little hard ridge under his fingers during quiet moments at night, the faint ridges of scar tissue spanning it. Carolina doesn’t.

Instead, there’s a gaping wound at the base of her skull. York knows, because he cleaned and bandaged it as best he could. But what he’s realized now, a cold sickness pooling in his stomach, is that Carolina didn’t just take out her AI, she forcibly clawed out the port itself.

 _The removal of any AI port is an inherently dangerous process,_ the article had said. _Even when done properly, it can cause lasting neurological damage._

Permanent neurological damage, thinks York, as Carolina opens yet another water bottle and guzzles it down. “How was the run?” he says.

“Hm? It was fine.”

York’s told that lie enough to know when he hears it. “Carolina…”

She stops drinking abruptly. “I said fine.”

“Hey, D,” says York. “She telling the truth?”

D trots over and flops down at York’s feet with a tired sigh; reaching down to pet him, York feels damp matted fur. “You go swimming, buddy?”

“He’s just sweaty.” Plastic clatters in the trash can. “I need a shower.”

“ ‘Kay. Hot water knob is kind of busted, you have to keep pushing it upwards.”

He waits until the shower is running and he thinks Carolina is in it, and goes back to his research.

–

Cold water streams down over her, stinging in the wound at the back of her neck. Carolina pulls away sodden gauze, watching the water at her feet become tinted orange. The bright prickles of pain are welcome, they keep her grounded. She’d intended to run until her muscles threatened to give out, but after a certain point the dog had started to slow down and protest. Makes sense. It hasn’t had supersoldier training.

But when Carolina stops, on a boardwalk by the gray-blue river, she realizes she doesn’t remember how to get back to the apartment at all. She can’t even remember the address.

She might as well be on another planet.

The light refracting off the river is harsh and unfriendly, every passerby who glances at her is a hostile watcher, and Carolina’s fingers ache for a gun. Okay, thinks Carolina, exhaling slowly. Don’t panic. You can solve this.

The dog, panting, leans against her leg, fur damp with sweat.

“D?” says Carolina. Its ears twitch at the name. “D? Home?”

It barks, looking up at her, round brown eyes and a long dark muzzle.

“D!” repeats Carolina. “Let’s go home.”

Barking again, it tugs on the leash, and Carolina has no choice but to follow its lead and pray. “You better take me to the right place,” mutters Carolina under her breath.

But by the time they get to an apartment complex, it’s beginning to look familiar, and though Carolina isn’t sure the door the dog stops at is the right one, the key she finds in her sports bra matches the lock.

Carolina realizes she’s simply standing still in the shower, icy water running down around her. Pushing soggy hair out of her eyes, Carolina turns off the water and grabs a towel.

And then she’s sitting on the couch while York bandages her neck, and she has no memory of how she got from the shower to here. “How are you doing?” asks York quietly.

Carolina looks down at her hands, at the chipped nails and bruised knuckles. “Fine.”

“You keep saying that, and I keep not believing you.” York’s voice shakes at the end.

There’s a tree outside the window, and the wind and sun through its leaves cast dancing shadows on the dingy beige arm of the sofa. Carolina laces her fingers together. Her neck stings as York applies antiseptic, damp cotton ball pressed against raw edges. She wonders if they should stitch it up, and if so, why they haven’t yet. Maybe the other one was going to, before he left.

She doesn’t remember why he left, but she has a vague feeling it was something she did.

( _bang, a bloody hole in a pale forehead, wisps of blonde hair dyed pink at the ends_ )

The memory slides away like water on oiled glass, gone before she can piece together what it was. York’s hand pauses on her shoulder. “Carolina?”

Sliding her hands under her knee, she laces her fingers together and pushes them back up under her thigh, to stop them shaking. The dog, curled up on a faded and hair-covered cushion, twitches in its sleep.

“I looked up AI implantation,” says York quietly, pressing a gauze pad to the back of her neck and taping it in place. “And what happens when you take one out.”

( _fingers digging into the flesh of her neck, hooking onto that little chunk of metal inside her, a sharp snap as she disconnected wires and then –_ )

“– lina?” York is saying, far away and distant. “Carolina? Carolina!”

She blinks and he’s in front of her, hands on her forearms, a frown on his scarred face. This close the blank whites of his eyes are smooth and artificial, the skin around them puckered and red. “I’m here,” she says vaguely.

“You stopped breathing,” says York.

Lightheaded, Carolina exhales, pushing her weight down farther on her trembling hands. York’s hands on her arms are faintly callused, warm and dry, and their hesitant pressure is the only thing keeping her from floating completely out of her head. “York,” she manages.

When he speaks, it is with a voice far gentler than her scattered memories of him, of needling and teasing and good-natured, inappropriate humor. “I’m here.”

It’s not enough to fix her (oh yes, she knows something’s broken, all the missing pieces and empty spaces in her mind, flat whiteness where something once had been), but it’s something.

It’s enough for now.

-()-

York drags out the one extra blanket he has left, attempts to give Carolina his pillow before she flatly refuses it, telling him the couch will be enough. His sheets are still damp, draped over chairs and the table in an attempt to aerate them, so he digs up his old sleeping bag from the bottom of the closet and cocoons himself in it on his mattress instead. D is temporarily befuddled by this arrangement before deciding to lie down directly on York’s feet instead. York could push him off and attempt to halt the spread of canine hair all over his mattress, but at this point why even bother. The rest of the apartment is covered already anyway.

At some point he’s awakened by Carolina crying.

At least, he calls it crying for lack of a better word. It’s more of a hoarse, uneasy sobbing, low and broken, fading into silence only to pick up again with a catch. The couch creaks, and it sounds like she’s moving restlessly. D whines faintly.

“Yeah, bud, I know,” breathes York, sliding out of the sleeping bag and getting to his feet. “ ‘Lina?”

“Nooo…” she groans. Words fall out of her mouth half-formed, and York can only make out a handful of them – “no” and “don’t” and “please,” endlessly repeated, “ _please_.”

The sound of Carolina begging, strong, indomitable, fearless Carolina, sends a cold shiver down York’s spine. “Hey, Carolina,” he says, kneeling down beside her, finding a clammy hand to grasp. She twitches, jerking her hand against his grip. “Hey, it’s all right. Wake up. You’re okay.”

She cries out again, sharper, twisting away, and York worries that she’ll reopen her neck wound like this. He cups the back of her head with his near hand, the other clasped around her far wrist, and tries to find the balance between comfort and restraint. “ ‘Lina, ‘Lina,” he repeats. “Hey. You’re okay, you’re all right, I promise, just wake up –”

Carolina struggles against his grip, breathing fast-paced and frantic, her skin now fever-hot under his hands. “Carolina!” repeats York. “It’s just a dream, I’ve got you, I’ve got you –”

Sharp fingers grab him, digging into his bicep. “Hey, easy, easy,” says York. “It’s just me –”

“Let me GO!” she screams. “ _Maine –_ ”

“Hey hey hey!” York’s hands fly off her and he holds them up by his face, he doesn’t know if it’s too dark for Carolina to see them. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

She’s gone very still, the only sound her shaky breathing. “York?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. You’re safe.”

With a long sigh, Carolina drops back down into the cushions. York finds her hand again, covers her shaking fingers with his. “You’re all right,” he says, rubbing slow circles into the back of her hand with his thumb. “You’re all right.”

“They’re still in my head,” she says, voice thick and wet. “I can’t – I can’t remember my name, but I can’t – they won’t go _away_ , York, they’re ghosts, they keep –”

Her hand tightens convulsively on his and he returns the pressure, a vast and painful ache pressing on his sternum. “They’re gone,” he says. “They’re out of your head, Carolina, they’re just some little plastic chips sitting around. They can’t do anything to you anymore.”

“What?” she says. “No. Not the AI. South. And Maine.”

York doesn’t know what to say to that. He swallows, the sound of it loud in the nocturnal apartment. “You should sleep,” he says at last, throat catching, and rises.

As his fingers start to slip out of Carolina’s, she strengthens her grip, tugging him back down. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay.” What the hell, it’s not like he gets more than a few hours of sleep each night anyway. Sinking back down beside the couch, he rests his elbow on the cushion next to Carolina, one hand gently resting on her forearm. “I’ll stay.”

Eventually her breathing slows into a rhythm approximating peace, and his head grows heavy and wilts onto his arm, and he sleeps again too.


	9. Chapter 9

When Carolina wakes in the grey, pre-dawn morning, she sees York still asleep beside her, curled up with his head on his arm at a clearly uncomfortable angle. “York,” she says.

He wakes with a start, then groans and slumps back down onto the cushions. “Time is it.”

“I don’t know.”

“ ‘S’it morning?”

“Almost.”

Groaning again, he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. It’s gotten shaggy, and his facial hair isn’t so much “beard” as it is “untrimmed stubble.” The difference between this and his carefully coiffed appearance during PFL is almost endearing, and a brief tender urge to protect him flares in Carolina.

-()-

The next night Carolina sleeps on the couch, with no nightmares. The night after that, York wakes again to her cries, and brings her back to waking with gentle hands and words. But when he’s settling in to sleep beside her against the couch again, Carolina puts a hand on his shoulder, nudging him away. “Go to bed.”

“But.. do you want me to stay?”

Carolina sighs, fingers trailing over his scalp almost absentmindedly. “Sleep on your bed, you’ll be more comfortable.”

“You could sleep with me.” York regrets the words the instant they’re out of his mouth.

Carolina’s fingers pause. “York.”

“I mean – not like, sleep with me as in sex, just, you know, we sleep in the same bed, it might help…”

He stops his babbling when Carolina doesn’t respond. This is probably when she punches him in the face, isn’t it. “Okay,” says Carolina, and springs in the sofa creak as she sits up. “Let’s go.”

“W – wait, really?”

She walks over and throws herself onto the bed, D immediately snuffling over to investigate her. York follows, lying down carefully beside Carolina without touching her. D makes his presence known by draping himself over York’s shins.

Carolina sighs, shifting closer to York until her elbow bumps his. “I’m not going to bite you, York.”

His one arm is behind his head, the other folded over his stomach. “You sure about that?”

She elbows him in the ribs. “Don’t tempt me.” 

\--

The first few nights are an awkward combination of York waking Carolina from her nightmares and lying sleepless beside her, unsure of what physical contact will be okay. But gradually the plexiglass wall between them dissolves, and in the mornings they find themselves wrapped around each other. It’s simple, human contact and warmth and basic touch. For all the time York spent carrying a torch for Carolina, somehow he never imagined this. It’s nice, and she’s gracious enough to ignore the morning wood that he keeps waking up with.

Then again, there are nights where she wakes up screaming.

“Carolina,” says York, pulling her close against his side. She wails and tries to push him away. “Hey, ‘Lina, it’s just me, it’s just me, I got you –”

She gasps like she’s coming out of deep water, rolling back against him. York pulls her close so she’s tucked up in his arms with her back against his chest, chin resting on her shoulder. “You’re okay,” he says, low and steady. “You’re safe.”

“Not,” she pants. “It’s inside.”

He rubs a hand up and down her arm, soothing. “What is?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” He tips his face against the back of her neck, not quite a kiss. D curls up against his back, a heavy weight. The night air is cool and heavy, and as Carolina exhales her ribs shift under York’s arm, tendrils of her hair tickling his face.

He’s been getting a lot more sleep in the past few days, York realizes, just before he slips under.

He misses North.

\--

He gets exactly two calls from North in that time. One is North wanting him to ask Carolina where South’s body is.

“I don’t remember,” Carolina says. “It was an inner colony, I think. The rocks were red.”

“Red rocks,” says North, and snorts. “Great. That’s very helpful.”

“North –” says York.

He hangs up.

\--

The second call from North comes late at night, some weeks later. “Hey, York,” he says, voice soft and rough. “How are you?”

York sighs, lying on his back on the couch. Something on the stovetop is sizzling, Carolina in the kitchen with D hovering hopefully by her. “I’ve been worse.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” There’s no sound on the other line, just the soft crackling of North’s exhale. “How are you?”

North sighs, long and drawn-out. “I’ve been better.”

“I’m sorry,” says York, an instinctive response. There’s really nothing else he knows to say.

“Thanks, man,” says North, and he’s sincere. The sound of his voice reaches deep down inside York, scratches an itch he didn’t even know he had. “I know you are.”

York wants to know, desperately, if North is coming back, but when he tries to ask the words stick on his tongue. “Where’ve you been?” he asks instead.

“I dunno,” says North. “Places. Traveling. Wanted to get out of my head for a while.” He pauses, adds, “I got in contact with Wash. We found South, brought her body back home.”

“Oh,” says York. “That’s good, man. How’s Wash?”

“He’s fine.” North pauses, adds, “Hunting down the last of the AI. Apparently Wyoming and Gamma went rogue too.”

Wyoming’s half the reason York’s blind. “I hope he beats the shit out of him.”

North chuckles darkly. “Oh, I wouldn’t be in Wyoming’s boots for a whole lot of money,” he says.

A pot clatters, and Carolina curses. “You okay?” calls York, holding the phone away.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” says Carolina. “Dog, no, don’t eat that –”

“Carolina still with you?” says North carefully.

York tries to ignore the tension in his gut. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t exactly gonna throw her out on the street.” It’s very quiet in the kitchen. “Especially not with everything she has to deal –”

“York, it’s okay,” says North. “I don’t mind.”

“…Oh.” This must mean he doesn’t plan to come back, then. “You don’t?”

North sighs again. “I know it wasn’t her fault, York. I had an AI too, I know how they get. Theta was tricky enough to work with, and from what I saw of Sigma…” His voice trails off ominously. “Anyway, I’m not… I’m not a hundred percent okay, but I’ve had a little time to think. I talked with Wash about it.”

It’s funny to think of little baby Wash as being someone with experience in this sort of thing, and by funny York means heartbreaking. “What’d he say?”

There’s silence for a long, long time. “North?”

“So,” says North, “I was thinking, I’ll probably come by in a week or so? I dunno how long I’ll stay, but if that’s okay with you –”

“Yes,” says York immediately. “It’s okay.”

“And what about Carolina?”

“ ‘Lina?” says York. “North wants to come by and stay with us, is that okay with you?”

She sighs, barely louder than the sizzle of frying food. “Does he know I’m here?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s not going to try and kill me.”

“Probably not,” says North.

“No,” says York.

The silence is broken only by sizzling and crackling. “Sure,” she says.

“Carolina says it’s okay.”

“Great,” says North. And then he adds, softer, “I want to see you again.”

York exhales shakily, releasing tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying. “Yeah, you too.”

“I want to kiss you.”

A flash of memory like fire in a pan, the heat and weight of North’s lips against his, and the chasteness of the phrase somehow only makes the wanting stronger. “God, yes,” says York.

“If I was there,” says North, the throaty burr in his voice getting York deep in his core, “I’d get you all laid out and pretty for me…”

York sinks deeper into the couch, free hand pushing under the waistband of his sweat pants. “And then what?”

“I’d pin you down and lick you until you’re begging me to let you come –”

“Do you want scrambled eggs?” says Carolina from right above him, and York yelps and nearly drops the phone. “They’re, uh, a little charred…”

He curls his legs in, trying to hide his semi. Something close to him smells very burnt; Carolina must have the pan with her. “I’ll pass.” On the other end of the line, North is laughing his head off.

“Do you think Dog would eat this?” she says speculatively.

“He’ll eat fucking anything. Don’t give him anything super burnt though.”

“Hmm.” She scrapes her spatula through the pan. “I’ll pick out the good bits then.”

\--

“Hey, man,” says North, pulling York into a hug and thumping him on the back. “Good to see you.”

York snorts, loudly.

“Aw, shit, York, I’m sorry –”

“It’s all right,” chuckles York, hugging him back. It’s like embracing a bear, only not quite as deadly “It’s good to have you back.”

“Hey, D,” says North, amidst snuffling and enthusiastic licking. “He’s looking fit…”

“Yeah, ‘Lina’s been taking him on a lot of runs.”

North straightens from petting D, Carolina approaching from behind York. He steps back a little towards her, ready to shield if necessary. “Carolina,” says North.

“North,” says Carolina.

D presses up against York’s side, and York loops his fingers through his collar. The apartment is painfully quiet except for D’s panting.

“North, I’m really sorry. I promise, I did everything I could to stop them…”

“Thank you,” says North, quiet and pained, and York’s shoulders slump in relief. “I know you tried. I’m… I’ll never be completely okay, I don’t think, but I don’t hate you, at least.” He laughs a little, self-deprecating. “At least, I don’t think I do.”

“That’s always good,” says Carolina, doing her best to sound nonchalant, but York can hear the emotion in her voice. “We were friends once, right? Before… everything.”

“Yeah,” says North softly. “We were friends.”

“Jesus,” says York. “You guys are gonna make me start crying. Except, you know, I can’t…”

“Not everything is about you, York,” says North, but it’s affectionate. “I know, it’s a startling concept, but it’s true.”


	10. Chapter 10

York wants to touch North so badly. It’s even worse because he can’t see him; it doesn’t feel like a complete reunion, _won’t_ feel like one until he can trace his hands over North’s face and down his chest, feel out the lines of him again, discover any new scars…

Carolina’s going out for her daily run with D. “See you,” York calls after her.

“Yeah.” The door shuts behind her.

No sooner has it done so then suddenly North’s swept York up off his feet, lips mashed against his. York grunts and wraps his legs around North’s waist, holding on for dear life, and kisses North as if the safety of the world depends on it.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, once he comes up for air.

North doesn’t respond, just pulls him back in for another kiss, fingers sinking into the hair at the back of York’s head. Arms tight around North’s broad shoulders, York kisses him back, open-mouthed, tongue sliding against North’s. North has his other hand gripping his rear. Honestly, at this point North could push York up against the wall and fuck him there and York would be happy.

But it seems North has other plans – he steps over and takes the two of them down onto the bed, almost falling, his weight pressing York into the mattress. North kisses hungrily down York’s neck, lips hot against his skin, nips at York’s collarbone. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I got here,” he sighs.

York tugs on North’s shirt, pulls it off over his head. “Wow, needy much?”

North flicks him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Seizing York’s chin, North holds him still and kisses him until he sees stars. York grinds his hips up against North’s, hands exploring down every familiar curve and indentation of North’s back. He’s comforted that there are no new scars, at least not to his fingers, and North’s hands are rough and eager over his face and chest, his mouth ravenous on his.

North takes York’s clothes off like he has a personal vendetta with them, the process admittedly more complicated than it needs to be because York refuses to take his hands off North unless absolutely necessary. He can’t help it, he’s greedy, he supposes – he wants to feel every inch of North, take him in from his face all the way down to his ass. He wants it all.

Between the two of them all clothes are off and they’re grinding up against each other in earnest. The heat is unbearable, York’s skin tingling and flushed, and the friction between his erection and North’s is enough to drive him mad.

“North,” he pants, in between sloppy kisses, North bearing down heavy against him as his fingers dig into York’s waist. “North –”

“Mm –”

“ _North –_ ”

North breaks away with a catch of breath. “What?”

York slides a hand up North’s chest, pauses it over his heart to feel his thudding pulse. “Fuck me.”

North’s pulse speeds, his already-warm skin heating up further. “Okay,” he says, breathless.

“Yeah?”

“Okay –”

And then North’s yanked York’s hips up painfully flush against his, kissing him mercilessly, and York’s so hard he thinks he might die. When North finally does enter him the groan York lets out isn’t dignified at all, but if anything it only encourages North. “This good?” says North, warm and breathless in York’s ear.

York wraps his legs around North for extra leverage, pushing up against him. “More –” North pushes his hips down and York groans again, head thrown back. “Yeah,” he pants. “That’s it – oh God, _North_ –”

The rhythm North sets is thorough, unrelenting, each roll of his hips pushing up inside York in a way that makes his head swim. He’s making all sorts of noises now but he could not give less of a fuck, there’s only space in his head for North, North’s lips at his throat, North’s hands on his hips, his sweat-damp body pressed up against him, his cock pushed in tight –

York comes with a hoarse cry and a rush of blood to the head, his body going temporarily weightless. When he comes back to himself North is mid-orgasm, trembling face pushed up against York’s neck, and York loops his arms around North and holds him as he rides it out.

 Spent, North pulls out and collapses to the bed beside York, breathing heavy; the air around York is suddenly much cooler and emptier. York lets a fond hand fall limply onto North’s back, feels the tremors running through him. “I’m gonna go clean myself up,” he says.

“No,” mumbles North, and a long arm wraps around York and pulls him inexorably into North. “Stay.”

“Dude, I’m all gross,” complains York, but it’s half-hearted at best, and now that he’s curled up warm against North’s side, his muscles sinking into post-coital lassitude, he finds he really doesn’t want to move at all.

“Don’t care.” North’s arm tightens briefly around York. “You’re mine.”

“Am I?” York trails careful fingers down North’s arm, up his shoulder and over his neck, brushing gently under North’s jawline. North shivers. “Since when?”

“Since… always.”

“Really,” snorts York, tracing over North’s cheek, the flat curve of his cheekbone, the soft dip under his eye. “Is that so.”

“Mm.”

Forehead touching North’s, York lies still and listens to the soft steady noise of his breath. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

North’s hand on York brushes down his back, a long slow sweep from shoulder to hip. “Missed you too.”

-()-

When Carolina returns from her run, the apartment is on first glance empty. But then she realizes the bathroom door is shut, the shower running. So just North’s out, then, getting groceries or something. She kneels to unclip Dog’s leash from his collar, the nylon-weave circle bright green against his black and tan ruff, when from the shower there comes a muffled but unmistakable moan.

Carolina freezes, cheeks burning. It could still be just York, but then there’s another moan, this one lower and drawn-out, and at the same time a distinctly masculine murmur, words undistinguishable through the sound of water.

Okay. So North and York, then. She can’t say she’s surprised, really, and Carolina wonders if this was something she knew about before, if they were sleeping together before she arrived, even before York left PFL. She has no way to tell.

She doesn’t mind, honestly – really, the only thing she’s miffed about at the moment is that she can’t take a shower. But as Carolina strips off her sweaty t-shirt and throws herself down onto the couch, watching Dog lap noisily at his water bowl, she becomes aware of a very different kind of discomfort.

Carolina doesn’t remember the last time she had sex, which, admittedly, isn’t saying much. But it’s been a long time, or at least it feels like it has, and now that her libido’s awoken for the first time in weeks it’s making itself very difficult to ignore. There’s another moan from the shower, a voice stretched tight in pleasure, and Carolina bites down hard on her lower lip.

She could masturbate, she supposes. But there’s something strange and uncomfortable about the idea of doing that to the sounds of North and York having sex while they don’t even know she’s there, and although she makes a couple of half-hearted passes with her hand down to her groin, hand flattening over her stomach and into the crease of her thigh, she can’t bring herself to do it. Huffing in frustration, Carolina gets to her feet and goes to the fridge for a bottle of water.

As she’s gulping it down, standing in cool air from the open fridge, the shower shuts off with a hiss. Carolina shuts the fridge door emphatically, hoping the sound will carry into the bathroom. “Shit,” says York, muffled. “Carolina.”

Apparently it does.

The bathroom door opens. Carolina opens the fridge again, partially to look for food and partially so she doesn’t have to look at anyone. There’s the sound of pattering feet, wet and guilty. “Hey,” says York. “I’m just gonna… grab these… yeah…”

The feet head back towards the bathroom; glancing around the fridge door and under her arm, Carolina sees York half-sprinting over, hair in wet disarray, clutching a towel around his waist, a bundle of clothes under his other arm. He’s skinnier than she thought he might be, body lean and tanned and wiry. Heat rises to her cheeks again and she stares resolutely into the fridge.

By the time North and York emerge, fully clothed, she’s sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of easy mac. North, at least, has the decency to look apologetic, while York is very clearly pleased with himself.

“Do me a favor, York,” says Carolina as he pulls a chair out from the table, clearly about to speak. “Close your mouth before you put your foot in it.”

He freezes halfway in the act of sitting, face blank. North barks a laugh. “Gotta agree with her,” he says.

“Okay,” says York, the picture of righteous indignation as he sits, “you are forgetting that I am a master of words, a smooth-tongued charmer –”

“Yeah,” snorts North. “Smooth like crunchy peanut butter.”

Carolina’s suddenly thinking about York’s tongue and how it might be smooth in other ways. She takes an unnecessarily large swallow of mac and cheese and stares down at her food, aware of heat in her cheeks again.

If North notices her blushing, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Remember that bar on Reach?” says North. “Because I sure do –”

York is flushing too. “Okay,” he says, “first of all, the booze there was _way_ stronger than any of us realized, and second of all, I was just helping out Wash –”

“Yeah, you were a real knight in shining armor.”

“Fuck you.”

\--

 _Do it,_ hisses Sigma. _Now, while you have him._

Maine stares pleadingly up at Carolina out of his one good eye, the other bruised and swollen shut. His arms are tied behind his back. Cuts and welts crisscross his face; blood drips from his broken nose and split lip to a small puddle on the floor. Drip, drop. Drip, drop.

Carolina looks from him to the pistol in her hand. “I can’t,” she says.

 _You wanted to be the best, didn’t you?_ says Delta, cold, implacable. _Shoot him. Then you will be the best._

“No!” It’s as if her armor has locked down, freezing her in place – she can’t move, can’t turn her head, only speak and tighten her finger on the trigger. “Not like this.”

_It’s the only way._

“Then I don’t want it,” she manages, shaking.

“Why not?” rasps Maine. “That never stopped you before.”

He glares up at Carolina, eye burning like a live coal. She stares back, shaking. “You can’t talk,” she says through numb lips.

“You’re right,” says Maine, a crimson stain growing at his throat. “And whose fault is that?”

Her hand trembles so much she might drop the gun if it weren’t locked to her fingers. “I’m not – I didn’t –”

“You were my teammate!” he roars, struggling fruitlessly against his bonds. The crimson is dripping now, bloody trails down the front of his white breastplate. “You were supposed to have my back, you were supposed to help me, but you were so _blinded_ by your own ambition –”

“I’m sorry,” she stammers, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, please –”

“It’s okay, Maine,” says CT, dead-eyed, voice hollow. “She never cared about the rest of us either.”

“I did,” protests Carolina, but it sounds weak and false. “You were my team –”

South throws her head back and laughs, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty space. “Bullshit!” she says, echoes of her laugh continuing. “When it came down to it it was you, it was always about _you –_ ” She glares at Carolina. The blood-encrusted hole in her forehead goes all the way through, Carolina can see light through it. “You killed me.”

“I didn’t,” says Carolina, “it was _them –”_

“You killed me,” repeats Maine.

CT looks at her, unblinking. “You let me die.”

Carolina’s hand holding the gun moves on its own, she can’t stop it; it presses the gun up under her jaw, the ring of the muzzle cold against her skin. Breathing shaky, muscles locked, shivers running down her spine, Carolina closes her eyes and waits for the bullet through her skull.

 _Did you really think it would be that easy?_ says Sigma.

Fire shoots up her torso, blasting through her from groin to neck. She screams, arching her back, she is being ripped apart and yet somehow still whole, endlessly being torn into pieces and put back together, Prometheus on the mountain top –

Her ears are filled with the sound of flames, her skin is burning to a crisp, when she opens her mouth to scream again the fire pours down her throat, making it blister and bubble. It hurts, but she almost wishes it would hurt more, because then she would black out, but instead she is agonizingly conscious of her seared flesh pulling away from the bones –

Far off in the distance, someone is shouting, insistent. Iron bands clamp around her arms, burning hot, and Carolina tries in vain to throw them off. _Let me go,_ she wants to scream, _leave me alone, let me die,_ but her shredded throat can’t form words –

 _Carolina,_ someone is calling, from far far away. _Carolina, wake up._

A break in her head, a snap, and she gasps as she is dragged out of the flames into the dark, a pair of hands on her. “Hey hey hey, shh, shhhh…” a soft, familiar voice is saying. “You’re okay, you’re all right…”

Closing her eyes, she clenches her fists and breathes in deep. Control, she tells herself. Control.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay,” says York. His hand rubs gently up and down her arm. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”

North makes an indistinct noise in his throat.

Opening her eyes, Carolina sees them before her in the dark, York bent over her with his hands on her arms, not quite close enough to be threatening. North stands behind him, a silhouette in the faint light filtering in through the windows. “ ‘Lina,” says York. “Are you awake?”

She swallows, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Nightmares, huh,” says North, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. There’s a shake in his voice that he doesn’t quite mask.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

York’s thumbs smooth slow circles into her inner elbows. “Was it a bad one?” he asks quietly.

All three of them were there. “Yeah,” manages Carolina.

York exhales unhappily, now running his fingertips lightly up and down her forearms, just the right amount of pressure to keep her present. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and pained. “Is it because you slept on the couch?”

“Where does she normally sleep?” says North, confused.

Oh, thinks Carolina. This is awkward.

“With me,” says York. “It’s – it’s for the nightmares. That’s it.”

The silence is deep and dark; Carolina wishes she could see North and York’s expressions. At the back of her mind is the idea that she doesn’t know where, or when she is; there is nothing outside of the four walls of this room. She pushes the thought away.

“Well, if she keeps screaming like that we’ll never get any sleep,” says North irritably, getting up. “Come on.”

“Hmm?” York turns his head towards North as North shuffles back to the bed. “North?”

“Get over here, both of you.”

York obeys immediately (better than Dog ever has) but his fingers wrap around Carolina’s wrist, tugging her with him. She follows, unable to push past the static in her head and decide for herself what to do, but she trusts York not to lead her astray.

The blind leading the blind, she thinks vaguely.

North is already stretched out on the bed, and York sinks down into his arms with a familiarity that strikes a strange jealous chord in Carolina. But he still hasn’t let go of her, and Carolina finds herself curled up on the bed as well, within the curve of York’s body. A tight knot between her shoulders loosens like a spring unwinding, and she sighs.

“North?” mumbles York, his arm wrapped clumsily around Carolina’s waist. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” sighs North, muffled, from behind York. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”


	11. Chapter 11

York runs his fingers over the four little plastic chips, laid out on the table. One, two, three, four; Eta, Iota, Delta, Sigma. Sigma, the last chip, is scratched and scarred, no longer useable.

“They remember her,” says Carolina quietly, on York’s right hand. “Eta mourned her.”

North exhales, long and slow. York, pressed up against his shoulder, feels him trembling, and lightly touches his fingers to the inside of his wrist. “Are they still there?” he says.

Silence, for a long time, broken only by D’s snuffling as he pushes his nose under York’s free hand. “I think so,” says Carolina. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

North’s fingers are still shaking, and York takes his hand. Relief twinges under his collarbone when North wraps his fingers around his and squeezes tight. “You don’t have to try, you know,” he says. It’s one of the few things from counseling that’s stuck, taking recovery at your own pace. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” says North, voice like iron. “But I’m going to.”

He lets go of York’s hand, elbow brushing his as he reaches towards the table, leaning over towards the chips. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Carolina. “ ‘Lina?” says York.

Reaching for her, he finds she’s shaking too. “North, don’t –” she says, voice constricted. “Don’t do it –”

“Hey,” says York, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close against him. Carolina is tense as live wire but lets him pull her. “He’ll be okay –”

“Are they dangerous?” asks North sharply.

Carolina is trembling violently in York’s hold. “They’ll get inside you, they’ll take you apart, North, don’t –”

“Are they malicious?” North’s voice cuts like steel.

“North, don’t –”

“I said, are they malicious?”

Carolina huddles into York’s side, shoulders stiff and rigid. “I don’t think so,” she says. D whines and tries to push in between her and York. “But it doesn’t matter, they’re AI, they’ll tear you to pieces –”

 North grunts, and must reach for the chips again, because Carolina shouts “Don’t!” and lunges out of York’s grasp. York grabs her before she can scuffle with North, struggling to capture her wild arms and bring them in closer. “ ‘Lina, ‘Lina, it’s all right, they won’t hurt him, I promise…”

“No!” she yells, hoarse, and elbows York in the gut – he wheezes but manages to hang on. “North, _don’t_ , they’ll kill you, you’ll wish you were dead, don’t, _don’t –_ ”

She’s struggling wildly; York wraps his arms around her and hangs on for dear life. “Jesus,” grumbles North. “Don’t worry, Carolina, I’ll go stick these in somewhere else –”

“Are you fucking _insane_?”

York doesn’t quite understand it – one second he’s holding Carolina, and then she’s gone and he’s flat on his back on the floor. “All right, all right!” North is shouting. “Jesus Christ, back off –”

“North, you have to believe me, _don’t –_ ”

“I can handle it!” he roars.

“You say that –”

“I had Theta, I know what it's like! Eta and Iota aren’t as bad as Sigma,” counters North. “And I’m stronger than you.”

York, sitting up now and rubbing his stinging jaw, becomes aware of how deadly quiet Carolina has become. “North…” he says slowly.

Neither North nor Carolina say anything; York imagines they’re glaring at each other, a standoff from either sides of the table. “North,” says York again. “Maybe she’s got a point.”

“York –” grits out North.

“Look, there’s a lot of potential for things to go wrong, you realize that, right? I’m not saying don’t do it, just it might be a good idea to do it with supervision, or something. Like at a hospital.”

“Yeah.” North’s voice is harsh and bitter. “I’ll just walk in and say, hey, I’m missing these two AI, could you just plug them in for me –”

Carolina hisses, a quick suck of air in between her teeth.

“I don’t know, there has to be some way,” says York, still on the floor. D has come up next to him, nudging his shoulder. “Better than you slicing the back of your neck open in my apartment…”

North exhales long and slow. Absentmindedly, York scratches at D’s ruff, waiting for the inevitable refusal. “Fine,” says North.

“Okay. …Wait, what?” York stops petting D.

“I’ll wait.” North presses something down onto the table with a conspicuous clink – probably the chips. “I’ll do it at a hospital. Or somewhere else with supervision.”

“Carolina,” says York, when she still hasn’t responded. “You okay with that?”

No answer, and then footsteps towards the bathroom, and the door slamming shut. “She’s in the bathroom,” says North.

“I know.”

“You gonna sit there all day?”

It’s not sight, but a sense of _something_ , combined with the sound of North’s footfalls, that lets York know North has walked over and is standing by him. Holding his hand out into the darkness, York is rewarded by the clasp of North’s fingers around his as he pulls him to his feet.

\--

York wakes with a start, motion and movement in the bed, warmth behind him. “Shh,” breathes North, sliding in behind York. “Just me.”

Carolina, curled up in York’s arms, sighs uneasily in her sleep, and York rubs her arm. “Did you leave?”

“Mm.” North kisses the back of York’s neck. “Just stepped out for a sec.”

North’s hand on York’s waist is trembling.

“North…” says York slowly.

“Hmm?”

York leans back into him; he’s tense, too tense, and he’s holding himself carefully controlled. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened, York, go back to sleep…”

“North,” hisses York, careful not to wake Carolina. “What did you do.”

“Nothing –”

It hits York like a punch to the gut. “You put the chips in, didn’t you.”

North freezes instantly, which is as good as a yes. “No.”

“ _North…_ ”

North sighs, head pressed against the back of York’s neck, arm tightening around his waist. “I had to,” he murmurs, barely speaking in the warm heavy night. “York, I would have never been able to do it legally, they would have confiscated the AI and arrested me for stealing government property.”

“But –”

“I’m fine.” His lips graze York’s shoulder, soft  and warm. “They’re very quiet AI. They don’t want to be dominant, they just want someone to talk to.”

Carolina twitches and stirs, and York shifts his hold on her to something more comfortable. “And… and it’s _you_ I’m talking to, right?”

North’s weight shifts on the bed as he pushes himself up, and then a gentle hand is turning York’s face up towards the ceiling, North’s lips pushing lightly against his. “It’s me,” he breathes.

It could be the AI, pretending, and York would never know. His cheeks are damp from where they touched North’s; he knows better than to ask if North’s crying. “I believe you.”

“Good.” North flops back down onto the bed behind York with a sigh, pulling him close. “Now will you sleep?”

“What time is it?”

“Dunno. Like five or something.”

York frowns, trying to remember when North left. “You went to bed with us.”

“Yeah…?”

“How come I didn’t notice you leave?” He’s a light sleeper, he’d have noticed.

North makes a noncommittal noise. “I was careful.”

Except York had been sleepy, so sleepy, before he went to bed, and even if he hadn’t woken up for North, the fact that he hasn’t for Carolina, or just because of his own fucked up circadian rhythm, is something that happens once in a blue moon… “North,” he breathes. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” says North, wary.

“You fucking _drugged_ us!”

“If half a sleeping pill counts as drugging, then sure,” snaps North under his breath. “I just didn’t want you or Carolina waking up and stopping me, you know you would –”

“I can’t _believe_ you –”

“Hmm?” says Carolina drowsily.

Both North and York freeze. “ ‘Lina?” says York. How much has she heard, how much does she know…

“What’s happened?” says Carolina, pushing herself up on one elbow. “York?”

North sucks in the tiniest inhale of breath, his fingers twitching on York’s side. Between him and Carolina, York goes still, knowing he has only a split second to make his decision. His fingers pause in the inner crease of Carolina’s arm.

“North snuck out last night to get booze without me,” he says.

Behind him, North goes limp with relief. “Really?” grumbles Carolina, slumping back into York’s arms. “Jesus, I thought it was something important.”

She sounds more like her old PFL self than she ever has before. York chuckles, and then impulsively kisses her cheek. “Sorry,” he says.

Now Carolina goes still, and for a moment York regrets the action, but then she laughs slightly and relaxes against him. “S’all right,” she says. “Just invite me along next time too.”

\--

“Hey, Ammi,” says York into the phone. “How’s everything going?”

“Anthony.” Ismat sounds twice as crisp and professional as usual today, which means she’s excited about something. “I have some news for you, about your eyesight.”

The bottom of York’s stomach clenches. “Okay,” he says.

“It’s good news, but there’s a catch.”

“Of course. Lay it on me.”

“All right.” Ismat clears her throat, and York pictures her putting her glasses on, looking down at a holoscreen. “I’ve found a cybersurgeon who does mechanical eye transplants that can partially restore sight. Not a hundred percent, but enough to make out shapes, basic light and dark. Ordinarily there’s a waiting list, and it’d be a couple years before he’s available, but I’ve managed to get you bumped up to a few months of now… if it weren’t for the catch.”

Black and white and shapes – it’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, and York’s desperate. “What’s the catch? What, do I have to trade in a kidney or something?”

“No,” says Ismat, unamused. “The technology in the mechanical eyes requires an AI, or at least an AI fragment, to run.”

York, sitting at the kitchen table where two AI chips are currently residing, clenches his fingers around the phone and tries not to breathe. “Oh,” he says.

“Exactly. Not an insurmountable hurdle, but a very difficult and expensive one. Generally AI are government  property, but I _think_ if I talk to the right former client I might be able to –”

“Ammi,” says York. “I’ve got an AI.”

Ismat stops short. “What?”

“Well, an AI fragment. I’ve got one.”

“From _where?_ ” she says, voice sharp.

“From PFL. We were all equipped with them, and, uh, they didn’t pull mine after I was discharged…”

“Oh, Anthony,” sighs Ismat. “Where is it from, _really_.”

“You don’t believe me?” he says, piling on the indignation.

“Three different specialists looked at you after you came home, and not one said you had a neural interface implant. You’ve never been equipped with AI.”

Though York is very often glad that his mother is one of the sharpest lawyers around, it never made getting away with things easy. “Well, okay,” he says. “It’s North’s AI. But he doesn’t want it.”

“And they let him keep his,” says Ismat, skeptical.

“Yeah. As, uh… compensation.”

“I can’t believe I never taught you to lie better,” sighs Ismat.

"I blame Mom and her good Catholic values."

"Fair," snorts Ismat. “All right, well, as long as you have the AI, I’ll make sure the surgeon doesn’t ask awkward questions.” She hesitates, a break in her clear voice for the first time. “Does that mean you’re willing to do this?”

“Are you kidding?” says York. “Hell yeah.”

“There are risks to the surgery, as I’m sure you’re aware – permanent neurological damage, loss of motor control…”

It’s a risk he’s willing to take. “I’ll do it. I want to see.”

“All right,” says Ismat. “I’ll talk to the cybersurgeon, and call you back with more details. Don’t worry about the flight home, I’ll arrange it.”

“Thanks,” says York. “Hey, love you, Ammi.”

There’s the barest hint of a chuckle from the other line, which means she’s smiling. “All right.”

“Say hi to Mom from me.”

“Will do.”


	12. Chapter 12

At some point York has become interested in building up muscle again. Carolina sees him doing crunches, push-ups, leg lifts. One day he comes back with a pull-up bar that he installs in the bathroom doorway, doing a couple of reps every time he goes in or out. Or at least, he does until North, whose forehead is on level with the bar, walks into it one too many times. After a week of passive-aggressive putting it up and taking it down, the bar lies abandoned in a corner.

With that plan derailed, York turns to other outlets. “Spar with me,” he tells Carolina.

“York…” she says. He’s already shoved the rickety little kitchen table off to the side, pushed the sofa out of the way so there’s a reasonably clear space. Dog watches from his bed, head on the floor, eyebrows twitching morosely. North is out job hunting.

“What?” snaps York, weight pushed forward on the balls of his feet. “You think I can’t do it?”

Carolina sighs; York has every right to be sensitive about his disability, but all the same it sometimes gets really fucking tiring. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

Her temper, so close to breaking out these days (she hates it, she wishes it didn’t, it reminds her too much of Sigma) flares. “Fine,” retorts Carolina, tying her hair up in a ponytail. “Let’s go.”

Looking pleased, York squares off to face her, bouncing from foot to foot, fists held up to his chest. “Don’t go easy on me.”

“Would I ever?”

She shifts her weight, thinking, what’s the fairest plan of attack, what gives him a fighting chance. Well, go for the chest, she thinks, his hands are already there.

Carolina strikes out, a fist towards his upper chest. It brushes his arm, catches him on the shoulder before York can fully block it, and the impact smack reverberates in the apartment.

“Jesus!” yelps York, dancing backwards and rubbing his shoulder. “Okay, again, again.”

This time Carolina aims for his other shoulder, and he blocks it more by accident than anything else. Emboldened by this, York throws a punch in the direction of her face, and instinct kicks in and Carolina grabs his arm and has York thrown flat on his back on the floor in a second and a half.

“Oh,” she says, as York wheezes and tries to sit up. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s good, it’s good –” He gets to his feet without accepting her held-out hand, and Carolina realizes too late he can’t see it. “Again.”

So she tries to hit him, again. This time his response is on target but two seconds too late, and Carolina has already danced behind him to twist his arm up behind his back and push it into his shoulder. “All right,” growls York, and Carolina releases him. “Again!”

And again, and again, and again, and Carolina keeps attacking him, and York keeps trying to defend himself and never quite succeeding, and when she lets him initiate it’s too easy to take the lead again. She can see York growing frustrated, his cheeks flushing, neck tensing, and his punches and blocks get sloppier and more furious until he’s just swinging wildly. “York!” says Carolina, and attempts to grab his arm. “York, stop –”

“No!” he snarls, voice raw, teeth bare, eyes red-rimmed. “I can do it, I can do it, I can –”

Carolina’s got a grip on both his wrists, and York struggles in her grasp, breath hitching unevenly. “York, it’s all right,” she says, a clumsy echoing of all he’s said to her. “It’s all right –”

“I can do it,” he gasps, expression wild and desperate, “I can, I can do it, I’m not –”

“It’s okay,” says Carolina again, and suddenly he’s stopped resisting and she pulls him in and York’s leaning against her, shuddering, making weird little choked breaths that Carolina recognizes as repressed sobs. She pats him on the back hesitantly.

“I’m not a failure,” says York through gritted teeth, face pressed into her shoulder.

“No,” says Carolina, and although she has very little idea of what constitutes a failure ( _yourself, you made a mistake, you let them die, you were never good enough_ ) she doesn’t think York is one at all. “No, you’re not.”

\--

There are days, a whole week at a time even, where Carolina feels like she might be okay. Not _whole_ – that’s a different thing entirely – but functional, comfortable enough in her world and her body that, well, she can _exist._ She can do things. She can cook and go for runs and pet Dog and try not to think about kissing York, or that low satisfied chuckle North makes in his throat sometimes.

But then there are other days.

Some days she finds herself in a strange apartment, in front of a man she doesn’t know, who holds his hands up like he’s unarmed and tells her that she’s safe and doesn’t need to worry. He’s blind, eyes blank and scarred, and that more than anything else is what keeps her from punching him in the face and running.

Or there are nights where she wakes up in the arms of a complete stranger, frozen and breathless in the dark, no memory of how she got here (did she go to a club? has she been drinking? would she know if she’d been raped?) and scrambles out of bed to the middle of an unfamiliar apartment, banging her leg on the table. Closing her eyes, she inhales on a count of five, holds her breath, exhales to a count of five. Assess the situation, figure out her resources and any threats, decide what to do next.

One night she grabs a backpack and as much food as she can fit in it, gets dressed, and runs out of the apartment. Fifteen minutes later she’s in the middle of a darkened city, and doesn’t know where she is or how she got here or where she’s supposed to be going. Sitting down at a bus stop, she puts her head in her shaking hands and fights the swirling vertigo.

Years later, two men and a dog approach her, and with quiet words and gentle hands lead her back home. They show her a video of a woman who looks exactly like her, saying her name and theirs and that she can trust them. Carolina is not sure she believes the woman in the video, but she is so tired, and she no longer trusts herself.

In the morning, she wakes, knowing herself, and cold chills run down her spine at how badly that situation could have gone.

She’s in the bathroom, naked, wet hair dripping and clammy on her back, and she sits with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest and tries not to panic. She doesn’t even know what she’s panicking _about_ , just that there are sharp breaths jumping out of her chest and she wants to run and she wants to cry and she doesn’t know where or even who she is.

A tap on the door, from outside, and she scrambles to lock it. It’s already locked. “ ‘Lina?” says a man outside, quietly. “Are you okay?”

She huddles back from the door as far away as she can, back pressed up against the cold glass of the shower. “It’s all right,” the man is saying, quiet, reassuring. “You’re safe. I promise.” A pause, and he adds, “I won’t come in. Not unless you want me to.”

She doesn’t know whether to believe him or not. Pressing her hands to her face, she exhales sharp and shaky and curls her toes up even tighter underneath her. _Please,_ she prays, so deep and tiny inside her she doesn’t even know who she’s talking to. _Please help._

Another sound at the door makes her jump, a snuffling and scratching that she hopes isn’t the man. And then, a soft little woof.

_(sudden flash of memory, seeing the world from a body much smaller than hers, and a dog almost as big as she is, soft, golden-furred, a wet warm tongue pushed up against her face, a heavy living breathing thing in her arms)_

Carefully unbending herself, she scoots over to the door, unlocks it. Her fingers tremble. “Don’t come in,” she calls to the man outside.

“I won’t,” he says. “Promise.”

Breath tight in her throat, she reaches up and opens the door, just a little; she’s behind it, so even if someone were to look through they couldn’t see her. The dog outside whines and pushes at the door, she can see a large brown paw slide through the gap.

She opens the door a little more. The dog makes its way inside, tail wagging, and immediately turns to her. It’s a German Shepherd, long dark muzzle, triangular ears, soft black and tan coat. Going straight to her, it starts licking her face, and she puts her arms around its neck and bursts into tears.

\--

Late at night, and Carolina sits on the couch and sips beer, one hand buried comfortably in Dog’s ruff, while York and North are tangled up with each other on the bed, the sounds of their making out wet and muted.

At first Carolina left the apartment when it was clear they wanted to fuck, but then they all started sleeping together, and after a while it kind of stopped mattering. She’s seen North naked when he comes out of the shower; she’s as familiar with the sound of York’s pants and moans as he is with her own nightmare cries. (She’s learned things, too, things she never would have guessed before – York likes it up the ass, and North is capable of absolutely _filthy_ dirty talk). There are no boundaries any more.

Well, mostly.

It is a hot summer night and Carolina feels prickly and heated under her skin, dissatisfied, knowing exactly what she wants and having no idea how to ask for it. She gets up to toss away her empty beer can, and does so with such vehemence that it clatters in the plastic trash bin loud enough to make York and North pause. “ ‘Lina?” says York, sitting up.

“What,” she snaps. “Nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing.” That’s York, maddeningly attuned to her every change of mood, and yet somehow never quite grasping what any of them mean. “What is it?”

“Fuck you,” she snarls.

“Whoa, hey, that’s not very nice,” says York.

Carolina grumbles irritably, yanking the fridge open and staring into it. Nothing looks appealing. Slamming the fridge shut, she opens the freezer, only to shut that too and open the fridge again.

“Carolina,” sighs North, “please tell us what it is. We can help.”

Closing the fridge again, Carolina groans and thumps her head into the freezer door. With the layout of the apartment she can’t see the corner that the bed is in, just hear North and York whispering to each other. And she’s _tired_ , she realizes. She’s tired of putting up with this shit.

Carolina rounds the corner to face them. York is sitting up, still straddling North, and North has propped himself up on his elbows. “Carolina?” says North, and she realizes her hands are clenched in fists. “What is it?”

With an effort she relaxes her hands. York has his face turned directly towards her. “Hey,” he says. “It’s okay.”

He’s holding out his hand. Carolina stares at it like it’s a strange beast attached to his arm, long tan fingers, scarred knuckles, the callused pads of his palm, his nails clipped too short. She thinks about those fingers pressing up against her, inside her, and something jumps sharply in her chest.

“You don’t have to tell us,” says North, sitting up now, braced on his arms behind him. “But it’ll be okay if you do.”

She looks at North, little prickles at the back of her spine. He doesn’t hate her anymore, she knows that, it is physically impossible for North to live in close proximity with someone vulnerable and not take them under his wing. But all the same, there is the stiff  knowledge that he must pity her, that though he may tolerate and even protect her and her failings, that he would never _desire_ her, not the way she does him –

“Carolina?” says York.

She puts her hand in York’s, carefully and deliberately, and his fingers wrap around hers. It is a warm pressure both familiar and comforting, but there is a new current in the air, at least for her. “York.”

“Mm-hm?”

Tightening her grasp on his hand, she leans forward and kisses him.

York makes a brief sound of surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. His lips are warm and dry under hers, and she kisses him careful and exploratory, tasting the tiny scar at the edge of his lip, feeling the scratchiness of his scraggly beard.

“Oh,” says North.

Pulling back from York, Carolina sits down on the bed and leans in to kiss North too, still careful, still experimental, mapping out how he’s different from York. His lips are broader, not quite as rough, the stubble on his chin coarser. “O…kay,” says York. “That was unexpected. Nice, but unexpected –”

North sighs into Carolina, lips parting, and she leans into him with a gasp. Heat bubbles up inside her, spreads over her cheeks and neck; her fingers bump into North’s and he seizes her hand with satisfyingly crushing pressure.

“Are you two _making out_?” says York incredulously.

Huffing in irritation, North breaks away from Carolina. “York,” he says to him, nose stark in profile, “I cannot _believe_ it is taking you this long to catch on to the idea of a threesome…”

“Oh,” says York, the light dawning on his face. “ _Ohhh._ ”

“Unbelievable,” grumbles North fondly.

He meets Carolina’s eyes, blond hair in tousled wavelets and a soft hungry look on his face. “Are you sure about this?”

Carolina nods.

“Any time it’s too much, or you’re not comfortable, you know,” says North, “just tell us. We’ll stop. It’s okay.”

She trusts him. North has lied to her before (oh yes, she knows about Eta and Iota, she knew the minute she saw there were only two chips on the table and blood on the back of his neck, and for a week she couldn’t speak to him, but he hasn’t murdered anyone yet and most days, as long as she pretends they’re not in his head, she doesn’t mind), but never in moments like this. Never when it was about just them and their humanity. “Okay.”

York walks his fingers over her thigh, to her arm, up her shoulder. His hand sweeps over her back, and Carolina shivers. She places a hand on his abdomen, feels his ribs shift as he breathes in and out. His face is close to hers, every detail – the deep pink of his scars, the smooth curve of his under lip, the gold glints in his brunet beard – reassuringly familiar. “Carolina?” he says, softly, achingly hesitant.

Carolina kisses him, the firm give of his lips working with hers, and she lets a hand creep up his chest, flattens her fingers against a broad pectoral, the steady throb of his heartbeat under her hand.  North’s fingers dance up her back, fluttering over her shoulder blades, and then his lips are at the back of her neck, her shoulder, pressing kisses into her skin. “Hello, my dear,” he breathes, warm against her ear.

No one’s every called her that, not even in jest or a drunken advance. Carolina turns from York to look at North, the fine lines around his eyes, the striated blues of his irises themselves, the arch of his nose, the dusting of blond stubble on his chin. Leaning over, she sinks into a kiss with North.

It is both deeply fulfilling and achingly not enough, North’s arm circling around her waist and pulling her closer. Her knees complain from how she’s sitting so she shifts her weight, suddenly and awkwardly  bumping into York –

“Okay,” York says, hands on Carolina’s hips, steadying her. “My turn.”

“Mm,” says Carolina, and tries to keep kissing North.

“Well, can we at least sit more comfortably?”

Turning, Carolina situates herself in between the two of them, her back against North’s chest and the insides of his thighs pressed against her hips, York kneeling in between her legs. He takes his shirt off, and Carolina runs her eyes over him, golden-brown skin drawn tight over bones and lean muscle, crossed here and there with pale scars. Leaning in, she kisses a dark brown mole right below his collarbone, ticks her fingers down his side rib by rib.

North’s broad hands press into her hip crease, long fingers working into her thigh muscles, back and forth, each stroke passing closer to her vulva. There are knots she didn’t even realize she had loosening in her spine, in her legs, in her gut, and when York parts his lips and lets her slide her tongue in against his, press it up against the roof of his mouth, something deep and coiled tight inside her lets go like butter melting in the sun.

Now North’s lips are on the back of her neck, and he tugs aside the collar of her shirt to deliberately kiss down to her bared shoulder, the pressure heavy and tender as a ripe plum. He tugs on her hips, nestling her closer against him – Carolina can feel his hard-on – and slides his hands down her thighs again.

York makes that pleased little hum in his throat again, nudging his face against Carolina’s, hands moving up her legs to lace his fingers through North’s. It is very warm between the two of them, and Carolina can feel the heat rising to her cheeks, her arms, her back.

“So, ‘Lina –” begins York.

She is tired of hearing him talk. Grabbing York’s face in both her hands, Carolina mashes her lips against his. York makes a noise like “mmf” and kisses her back, knees pushing up under her inner thighs.

North’s hands slide up her back, scrunching her shirt off, and Carolina ducks her head and lets York pull it down and off of her. “If only I could see you,” sighs York forlornly, tossing her shirt away.

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” she says tartly.

Smirking, York puts both hands on her breasts. “Oh,” he says, squeezing them. “Now I can.”

“North,” groans Carolina, leaning her head back on North’s shoulder, “please stop him…”

“I dunno,” says North, voice pleasant and low, arms wrapping around Carolina’s waist and pressing into her belly. York’s hands on Carolina are warm, and he brushes his thumbs over her nipples, making her bite her lower lip. “I kind of want to see where this is going.”

“Have I said I hate both of you before?” says Carolina. “Because I really –” York tweaks her nipples, and she catches her breath “– _really_ hate both of you.”

“I’ll wager good money you don’t,” North mutters in her ear, low and throaty, and his teeth close on her earlobe, tugging it slightly. Carolina sucks in a sharp breath, hands tightening on North’s thighs. “Care to make a bet?”

“I don’t gamble…” she says. York leans in to kiss her neck, teeth just grazing her skin. “Not when it’s two against one…”

“Oh, Carolina,” sighs York. North’s fingers dip below Carolina’s waistband, sliding her shorts down her hips. “I’m sure you could take us both.”

Lunging forward, Carolina grabs York and kisses him so furiously their teeth click together, her fingers sinking in his hair, his hands sliding down to sharply grab her waist and tug her against him. She’s fully on his lap now, legs hooked around her hips, and Carolina grinds up against him.

North’s hands return to Carolina’s hips and he presses up behind her, bare chest warm against her back. Carolina is now sandwiched firmly between the two men, she can feel both their heartbeats thudding, and York’s mouth is hot on hers and his hands are sinking into her back and North’s arms engulf her and it’s too much, there’s nowhere for her to go –

With a gasp Carolina breaks away from York, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. “ ‘Lina?” he says.

“ ‘M fine,” she pants. “Just need a moment.”

North immediately leans back from her, one hand moving to rub her back. “You want to stop?”

“No,” she snaps. “Keep going. Just give me a sec.”

Tilting her head and looking back over her shoulder, she sees North shrug and look up at York. “York?”

“If ‘Lina’s good, I’m good.”

“Mm.” With his hand not on Carolina’s back, North reaches up and cups York’s jaw, tugging him closer. Carolina shifts to the side a bit, arms wrapped around York’s waist, head against his shoulder, and watches him and North make out. She’s seen them kiss before, but never this close, and never for this long, and she watches the muscles shift in their jaws and their lips meld together, the brief glimpses of tongue, her whole body going hot like molten bronze.

York’s hard underneath her, and she rolls her hips against him, eager for more pressure between her legs. He groans a little, and North’s hand tightens on Carolina’s thigh. Raising her own hand, she ghosts her fingers over York’s collarbone, up his neck to the stubble creeping down from his jaw, lingering over his Adam’s apple. He shudders, goosebumps rising on his skin. Grinning, Carolina presses her mouth to his neck and slides her hands down the small of his back, under fabric to grab two handfuls of firm muscle, digging her nails in.

York hisses and crushes Carolina against him, face buried in her neck, his breath hot on her skin. It feels _good,_ it feels so good, and Carolina tilts her head back with her eyes closed. Fingers on her jaw, tilting her head to the side, and then North’s mouth is heavy on hers. Carolina leans back against him, kissing North slow like molasses, as his hand curves around her jaw, thumb on her cheek. York’s lips travel down her neck, down her chest, down soft curve of a breast, and when they close around her nipple she sighs and arches her back.

“ ‘Lina,” he sighs, and moves to the other breast. When he’s done with that one he kisses sloppy down her torso, sinking lower so he’s almost lying on his stomach. Carolina looks down at him, at his tousled head of hair, the dimpled muscles in his shoulders, and when York turns his face to press it into her belly she catches a glimpse of his flushed cheeks and lips. Her legs look very pale compared to his skin – I need to tan more, thinks Carolina briefly.

North tugs her back against him and Carolina leans against his chest, reveling in the warm solidity of him. His hands come up to cup her breasts, not doing much more than just hold them, but it’s so _satisfying,_ and Carolina reaches back to wind her arms around him and kiss under his jaw.

“Carolina,” says York, propping himself up on her elbows. Her shorts and panties are already halfway to coming off, and he twangs the waistband slightly. “Can I go down on you?”

If she wasn’t wet before, she sure is now. “Yeah.”

Tugging her shorts and underwear off, York tosses them aside. Carolina feels a brief flash of self-consciousness at her revealed private parts – she hasn’t shaved down there in weeks, there’s been no fucking point – and then York dives in and she pretty much stops thinking about anything other than _how damn good that feels._

Sighing, Carolina arches back against North, one hand curling in York’s hair, the other gripping North’s leg. She’s so determined not to moan, but York is making some pretty obscene slurping noises, and every time he gets her clit she can’t help but suck in a breathy gasp. North is playing with her breasts again, and she’s so warm, she’s aching with potential energy, she curls her toes and closes her eyes and then there are fingers inside her, pressing up against her walls. Carolina wants to come so badly, she really does, but it’s like –

_(standing on a diving board, staring at turquoise water far below her, and knowing the water will hold her safe but terrified to take that step off)_

– it’s like not being able to let go, and she whimpers and squirms against North. “Carolina?” he breathes, holding her close. “Still okay?”

“Ngah,” she pants. “I’m fine.” York starts to pull away, and she clumsily throws a leg over his shoulder and draws him back in. “Don’t stop.”

But he does all the same, pulling out and looking up, and only then does Carolina realize how tense she’s holding herself. “Just relax,” murmurs North, kissing her shoulder. “It’s okay, Carolina. We’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” says York, and kisses the damp inside of her thigh, infinitely tender. “You’re safe. We got you.”

And then his mouth is back on her, and Carolina trembles and pants and North is caressing her, up and down over her body, and she _lets_ him, she lets herself melt into North’s hands and York’s tongue. Pressure and tension build inside her in the best possible way and she’s genuinely making little moans now and she doesn’t care, _she doesn’t care_ –

She comes in waves, tingling pleasure spreading out from between her legs and rippling through her and the breathy gasp she makes is barely louder than North and York’s heavy breathing. Groaning wordlessly, North grabs her tight, kisses hungry down her neck, rolling his hips up into her.

York sits up, wiping his mouth on his arm; smiling, self-assured, he leans forward with his hands on Carolina’s thighs and kisses her. “How was that?” he murmurs into her mouth. Rather than try and string words together, Carolina kisses him, satisfied and uncoordinated.

“So,” manages North. Looking back at him, Carolina sees he is flushed salmon-pink, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Now…”

“Now what?” says Carolina, turning around fully and planting her hands on either sides of his hips. He’s very, very hard under his running shorts. “I’d say that’s up to you and York…”

York hugs Carolina from behind, arms wrapping tight around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. “You don’t want to join?”

She considers, North brushing sweaty hair off her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. “Nah,” she says. “I’m good for now. I’ll watch.”

“Ooh,” says York. “You hear that, North? We’ve got to put on a show…”

“I’ll give _you_ a show,” growls North, and then he’s grabbed York and is pulling him closer around Carolina, and she scrambles out of the way as North pins York face-first into the mattress and grinds up against him. Soon North is fucking York hard and fast, panting, York is making all sorts of noises, and it’s not long before they’ve both come too.

Carolina stretches out lazily, sweat cooling on her skin, as North climbs off of York, who hums contentedly into a pillow. “Okay,” York says, one hand flopping in Carolina’s direction. “Cuddle time.”

North meets Carolina’s eyes over York’s back, and they both smirk. “I dunno,” says North, sliding down beside York and wrapping an arm around his waist. “I think Carolina might be too prickly for that.”

“Mmmm…” She feels very un-prickly at the moment; sighing, she rolls up against York, who immediately hugs her tight. “We’ll see.”

It’s the same as so many nights they’ve spent together, North holding York holding Carolina, except now they’re all naked and slightly sticky and still very, very warm. For what feels like the first time in weeks, _months,_ Carolina is perfectly content to lie still, no anxious or aggressive drive, just closed eyes and steady breathing and York’s fingers tracing an idle pattern on her side. On the other side of the apartment, Dog crunches kibble, clattering against his metal bowl.

“Carolina,” says York slowly, hand splaying flat over her stomach, “what’s your real name?” He adds apologetically, “If that’s okay for me to ask.”

She stares at the wall six inches from her nose, mind a sudden blank. “ ‘Lina?” says York, when she doesn’t respond.

She must have had a name before Carolina, and ‘Lina, but she doesn’t know what it is, and she can’t remember anything, not even anyone who might have called her that. Did she exist before this day, before this evening? She can’t tell –

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay,” says York, rubbing up and down her arm, and Carolina realizes her breathing has gone quick and shallow. “You’re okay, ‘Lina, you’re here, you’re safe, we’ve got you.” She forces herself to relax, and York hugs her close again, forehead tipping against her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Curling her knees into her chest, suddenly cold, Carolina huddles back against York’s chest. “I don’t remember,” she says. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” says North quietly. “Or rather, Eta and Iota do.”

Carolina twists around to look over her shoulder at North; he’s propped up on one elbow, watching her with distinct sympathy. “Do you want me to tell you?” he says.

Swallowing, she nods. “Yes.”

York has his head turned upwards too, a slight crease between his eyebrows. North glances down at him briefly before meeting Carolina’s eyes again. “Amanda Church,” he says.

The syllables are meaningless to her. “Oh,” says Carolina. She’s still cold, and reaches for the throw blanket that has been kicked to the foot of the bed –

“Wait wait wait, hold up,” says York, suddenly sitting up. “You’re related to the Director?”

_(light glinting off glasses, a trimmed gray beard framing a severe mouth, long-fingered hands both clever and cruel)_

“She’s his daughter,” says North.

“Holy _shit_ ,” breathes York, laying back down and clutching Carolina back to his chest. She tosses the blanket over herself, wriggling so it’s covering her toes. “I am so sorry…”

North sighs, arranging the blanket so it covers all three of them. “And I thought I had issues with my dad…”

From the way they’re talking, Carolina surmises the Director must not have been good to her. She can’t remember anything he’s done, but the thought of him makes her stomach turn in anger and guilt, which confuses her. If he had really done something to her, then her anger should be valid and she wouldn’t be guilty. “To be fair,” North is saying, “he was an asshole to all of us.”

“Yes, but –” York’s arm tightens around Carolina, and there is a strange kind of pained anger in his voice. “Parents should take care of their kids.”

“I’m not a kid,” says Carolina, and flicks him on the nose. He nips at her ear in retaliation.

“What’s _your_ real name, North?” he says.

North chuckles, his arm around York, his knuckles brushing Carolina’s back. “You really wanna know?”

“Yeah, dude, that’s why I asked.”

“Daniel Travis Norman.”

York snorts, incredibly inelegant. “ _Travis,_ ” he says.

“Hey, I wouldn’t poke fun if I were you, Anthony Zuhair Elahi –”

“Look, I’m named after my grandfathers, it’s a very noble tradition –”

They continue bickering, but it’s lazy and affectionate, and as Carolina relaxes into the mattress and York’s arms, she is conscious of a momentary deep peace, a pool of water broken by only a single drop.

-()-

“– long will it take for him to get accustomed?”

“That depends entirely on his interactions with the AI; that being said, most implantations are stable within a couple days…”

York frowns, conscious of a pounding ache in the back of his head. The bed he’s lying on is supremely uncomfortable, there’s a steady beeping coming from off to his left, and… plastic? in his nose?

 _Anthony?_ says a careful digital voice, in his head. _Are you awake?_

 _Fuck,_ groans York. _Did they do it?_

 _If you are referring to the AI implantation, yes,_ says the voice. _Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Delta._ The voice pauses. _How would you prefer I address you?_

No one calls him Anthony any more except his parents and the few friends from college he’s managed to hang onto. _Call me York._

 _You would prefer I address you by your freelancer designation?_ The voice sounds bemused, but not judgmental.

_Yeah. Well, you’re a PFL AI, aren’t you?_

_AI_ fragment. _But yes._

The people above York are still talking – there’s three voices, he realizes, Ismat, Maria, and a male voice he vaguely places as the cybersurgeon. _So…_ says York. _This was it. The operation. It happened._

_Yes._

His stomach hums with nerves. _Did it work?_

The AI hesitates, and York swears he can feel it calculating, little mechanical ticks in the back of his head. _All hardware is integrated successfully,_ it says. _But I cannot tell whether your sight has returned until you open your eyes._

Right.

Taking a deep breath, York opens his eyes.

And there’s _light._

\--

“York!” shouts North joyfully the second he steps off the train. “Hey, man!”

Grinning, York pulls North into a hug, thumping him on the back. In his greyscale vision, there are light patches on the top of North’s head, the side of his face, and his eyes are dark. “North,” he says. “Good to see you…”

“Can you?” says North, pulling back with his hands on York’s shoulders. “I mean…”

York beams so wide he can swear it’s splitting his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I can.”

North smiles too – he _smiles,_ York can _see_ it, he might genuinely cry – and grabs York’s face in his hands and kisses him. Sunlight is bright and warm around them and York hopes everyone on the train platform is taking a good long look at them –

“Hey, save some for me,” says Carolina.

York turns to her – he misses the vibrant red of her hair but that’s Carolina, shit, has she always been that short? and straining against the leash in her hand –

“D!” shouts York joyfully, dropping to his knees, and immediately is greeted with an arm- and face-full of squirming, whining, ecstatically licking dog. “D, good boy, _good boy,_ did you miss me, you did, you _did_ , what a good boy –”

 _You… also call the canine D?_ says Delta.

 _Hey,_ says York. _Don’t get all jealous on me. He had the name first._

D is practically climbing on top of York in his delight, tail wagging furiously, and he keeps whining and licking York, and spinning around, and licking him again, and York can see his dog for the first time – “look at you, what a handsome motherfucker you are, look at this _face –”_

Carolina chuckles. Standing, York puts an arm around her waist and pulls her in, kissing her on the lips. “Hey.”

“You taste like dog spit,” says Carolina. But he can see her face, and she’s not frowning at all; her lips are curved in a small smile.

“Wow, what a welcome home,” says York. “Good thing D likes me then – huh? Yes! Yes you do, you asshole, aren’t you glad I’m back –”

“All right,” drawls North, slinging an arm around York’s shoulders. “Let’s go home before you embarrass yourself.”

Home – York has a whole apartment he’s dying to see, a whole city he only knows through secondhand descriptions, and there’s a tree outside Carolina assures him is beautiful. “Yeah,” he says, looking out at the street beyond the platform, at white patches of light on sidewalks and shiny cars. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
